AIGLE

IN THE VILLAGE OF CHESIÈRES

Yes; more undoubtedly could be said. In fact, a book such as this could well be written about each of the places we are visiting. But necessity is inexorable, and we must leave this very night for Aigle, though high fête is in the air and the huge rink is illuminated with Chinese lanterns, and a masked and costumed cortège, led by the stentorian strains of the village band, with Mr. Dobbs as majordomo at the head, is shuffling and gliding slowly round preparatory to dispersal for a display of gorgeous fireworks. Had it been daylight we might have walked down by way of Chesières and Huémoz to the large village of Ollon, home of the accomplished painter, FrédéricRouge, one of Switzerland’s most sincere and virile draughtsmen, and thence to our destination. As it is, we must return the way we came and take train from Bex to

A quiet old market town to-day, andchef-lieuof the largest district in Vaud, Aigle in 1529 was selected by Berne, after the disputation in the Cathedral of Lausanne, as the starting-point for the preaching of the Reformation, and it was here that Farel, Calvin’s noisy mouthpiece, made his first proselytes. The many-towered old castle, standing upon higher ground at the back of the town and amongst the vineyards, dates from the thirteenth century, but was burnt by Berne and afterwards rebuilt by her in 1534; to-day the great central tower serves as a prison, and in the body of the building is held the district court of justice. Not many years ago certain recesses in the woods at the back of Aigle were famous as the haunt of the lovely and scarce brown and gold Lady’s Slipper orchid; but, alas! that is of the past. Aigle at present is mostly noted among strangers for its golf links and the skating that is to be had on what is known as the Old Rhone—an ancient bed of the river now running a mile or so away; it is also thestation at which one alights for Leysin, Sépey, and the Vallée des Ormonts. Much as I would like to walk up the picturesque Ormonts valley to Ormonts-Dessus and Vers l’Eglise at the foot of “le bastion titanesque et dévasté des Diablerets” (quoting M. Jules Monod, of guidebook fame) and study the flora of which Mr. H. Stuart Thompson, the well-known botanist, speaks so highly, and hear from the peasants stories of the bellicose demons who infest the wild summits and war among themselves, using huge rocks as missiles; much as I would like to visit Sépey and the ruins of the Château d’Aigremont, where there is a subterranean passage in which it is said the last Lord of Aigremont is shut up with an awful horned ram, and is engaged in counting and recounting his hoarded treasure; or to push on to the Col des Mosses amongst the exquisite fields of flowers; or—— But it cannot be! We must adhere to the programme and must now take the electric railway that mounts to

There is a note of sadness in the journey, notwithstanding the extreme beauty of the landscape; for Leysin is one of the most noted stations in Europe for the treatment of pulmonary disease.With its numerous and huge sanatoria dotted about near the forests above the old village and its church, built in 1445, upon the southern slopes of the curiously striking Tours d’Aï, whose gaunt and ruddy cliffs dominate the whole and protect it from the bitter north and north-east winds, Leysin is a veritable sun-trap and has long been known as a successful agent in the fight which the skilled doctors wage for health. The perspective, too, must aid considerably both patients and doctors in the struggle, for it is second only to that from Villars. Perhaps it is in winter that Leysin is seen at its brightest and best, and Mr. L. A. Emery, President of the Leysin Sports Club, has kindly contributed the following authoritative information about this famous centre when it is stirred by the spirit of

“Although Leysin is a resort for invalids for whom all violent exercise is forbidden, yet it should not be forgotten that out of these 4000 winter residents there are at least 1000 onetime patients who have been completely cured, and who return year after year to the slopes that gave them back their health. This explains a seeming paradox—the immense enthusiasm for winter sport and the number of sensationalvictories that stand to the credit of Leysin’s sportsmen. By reason of its altitude (1450 metres) and its unique position sheltered from the winds, Leysin is assured of good snow everywhere, excellent ‘runs’, and smooth ice on its rinks. All sports are popular—Bobsleighing, Tobogganing, Ski-ing, Skating, Hockey, Clay-pigeon Shooting, and Rifle Shooting; and all is directed by theSporting Club de Leysin, one of the most important of its kind in Switzerland. The club was formed ten years ago (1903), at an epoch when engineered runs were unknown and sportsmen and sportswomen were content with the homely, modestluge. Davos had only begun to know the bobsleigh in 1902, and Leysin, not wishing to be behindhand, joined twolugestogether with a board, and thus wasà la mode. The success of this contrivance, rushing down the slopes, spreading consternation and terror among oldfashionedlugeurs, and beating all records for speed, was immediate and enormous. The example of this pioneer bob was quickly followed, and then it was that the Sporting Club offered its first Challenge Cup, and soon began to carry off cups from rival centres. Its list of victories is indeed significant of its members’ prowess. For instance, at Davos, in 1904, theCoupe de Francewas won by the bobLa France(Captain Bonford), and the same year the same Leysin captain won the championship of Vaud and also thechampionship of the Vaudois Alps. This latter championship was won again a few years later by the bobRussie(M. Coussis). In 1910 M. Renaud de la Fregeolière, on his bobJeanne d’Arc, carried off theCoupe du Président de la République, creating a record that has not yet been beaten; and the same bob won theCoupe du Mont Blancat Chamonix. In 1913, with M. Coussis at the steering wheel and M. Ewald at the brake, the bobRussiewon the Challenge Cup of theAssociation Suisse Romande des Clubs de Bobsleighagainst fifty competitors. Leysin, indeed, is in the front rank of bobsleigh racing, and the club actually offers, besides innumerable lesser prizes, six Challenge Cups for this one form of sport: TheCoupe de Leysin,Coupe Hansmann,Coupe Handicap Garlakass,Coupe du Sporting Club de Leysin,Coupe Régionale, andCoupe de l’Association Suisse Romande.

MONT BLANC AND THE AIGUILLE VERTE, FROM BRETAYE

“But if bobsleighing takes the lead at Leysin, the other sports are not by any means neglected. The hockey team is a strong one, and in 1910-11 Leysin was the scene of the first round in the tournament for the Swiss National Championship, and will be the scene of the second round in the tournament for 1913-4. The Captain of the Swiss National team, M. Bernard Bossi, was for two years President of the S. C. L., and no fewer than three Leysin players werein the International Hockey Tournament at Chamonix in 1913. Ski-ing is not, perhaps, in such high favour as at Villars and Morgins, yet it has no lack of devotees, for whom there are gymkhanas as well as two running competitions carrying two Challenge Cups. There are, too, gymkhanas and carnivals for skaters, and in the long list of prizes in this section are a Challenge Cup for racing and another for figure skating. Nor is the modestlugeurforgotten in these contests; and, in this regard, one day is set apart especially for the villagers.[16]And over and above all this activity are the shooting matches, pigeon shooting, or ball-trap being particularly popular here in winter, attracting some of the finest shots in Switzerland. Rifle shooting, also, is admirably installed, and meets with keen support, the winners in the numerous competitions receiving gold, silver, and bronze medals.

“To say that apart from the Challenge Cups already mentioned, there are seventy other cups to be won, is to say that Leysin flourishes remarkably in the realm of winter pastimes.

“L. A. EMERY

“President of the S. C. L.”

Looking across the Rhone valley to the Dent du Midi, a rift in the hills can be seen through the blue haze: that is the Val d’Illiez, whither we must now turn our steps in order to gain Morgins and Champéry, tucked cosily away almost upon the frontier of Savoy. As we leave the sunny slopes of Leysin to take train for Aigle, there comes a striking demonstration of the healthful beneficence of snow when treated sanely. In the hot sunshine, upon the glistening snowfield, little children, boys and girls, wearing nothing but bathing-drawers, hat, and snowshoes, are ski-ing bravely, or are snowballing each other, boisterously happy in the stinging warmth of it all. They are the tiny patients of a doctor who is proving in miraculous fashion the health-giving power in Switzerland of what in England gives us the shivers and compels us to put on extra clothing. It is distinctly reminiscent of what snow can do for chilblains and frostbites—the glow of life that it imparts; but I must not be supposed to be advocating it as a general and pleasurable practice to be followed by all and sundry in the Alps in winter.

Once back at Aigle, we must take the little local railway that crosses the Rhone and lands us at the quiet market town of Monthey, in Valais, and at the foot of the Dent du Midi, whence an electric mountain railway will take us to Champéry. The fault aboutmountain railways connected with the railways of the plain is that you are apt to go right through to your destination, thus missing much that is of interesten route. This applies to Monthey; for all around this cigar-manufacturingbourgthere is much that really repays a halt. So halt we will.

Passing through the marketplace and crossing the old covered wooden bridge spanning the Vièze—a swift little river hurrying to join the Rhone, and whose source is in the mountains beyond Champéry—and following the road which rises straight in front of us across steep chestnut-shaded slopes, we come to the delightful hamlet of Choëx, the elegant white steeple of whose small white church is so prominent a landmark from Bex. In spring and early summer this quiet retreat, perched high among the rolling woods at the base of the Dent du Midi, and with its broad view across the Rhone valley to Villars, Leysin, the Tour d’Aï, and the Diablerets, is very charming. There is here, too, a wonderful wealth of flowers beneath the chestnut trees and in the woods and fields; indeed the neighbourhood of Monthey is quite as interesting in this respect as is the neighbourhood of Bex, and it can produce certain gems that are strangers on the other side of the valley. Not far from the road atFin du Bruitan ancient Druid’s altar has been discovered: great formidable rocksplaced mysteriously as if on purpose, with an underground cavern beneath, containing, among other prehistoric objects, a stone coffin with a skeleton inside. Also in this subterranean chamber may be seen a crack that extends upwards in the rock to beneath the altar-rock above-ground, and some years ago I was told by the custodian that it was through this crack that the priests shouted up the messages of the gods to the assembled and trembling people. This may have been so, for it only follows the lines of the old Egyptian oracles; but unfortunately the tendency is to fake, or to supplement by the aid of plausible imagination, all that is authentic in such remains as these, particularly when a charge is made for viewing them. At any rate I believe I am right in saying that the stone-coffined skeleton, although genuinely prehistoric, was not discovered where it now lies, but in the quarries on the other side of Monthey. However, it is possible that the owner of this skeleton in life was one who worshipped in fear and trembling at this sacrificial altar; and it is a fascinating process to picture on these quiet, flowered slopes the quaking half-clad crowd, the human victim prone upon the great rock-slab, the white-bearded, white-robed priest with fanatic eye and gleaming knife upturned to the heavens—and all the awful ritual of those ancient heathen ceremonies.

And now we must push on to

Of course the orthodox way nowadays is to take the train to the village of Troistorrents and then to walk or drive to Morgins. Personally I prefer to walk from Monthey, as in days past, keeping to the old cobbled road as much as possible;[17]or, better still, mounting the woods and forest which rise immediately from thePierre des Marmettes, and then crossing the high pastures leading eventually down upon Morgins. This latter route, although unusual, is preferable by far for those lovers of Nature who are eager to reap all they can from the delightful scenery. And then, all the time to the left, for nearly five miles, towers the glorious Dent du Midi with its seven peaks. I imagine that there is no more individual, graceful, and arresting mountain in the Alps of the whole wide world. Like the Matterhorn, it stands out, a living personality amid its neighbour mountains. As among the many and striking peaks at Zermatt the eye rests at once and all but always upon the Matterhorn, so among the many and striking peaks in this district of the Rhone valley does the eye immediately rest uponthe Dent du Midi. One never tires of it. It is the first and the last upon which one gazes; it is the first and the last that one remembers afterwards throughout one’s days. Neither chocolate boxes nor picture postcards can dim its great appealing beauty. Notelephotecontortion of its exquisite proportions, in conjunction with an over-small Castle of Chillon, can destroy its repute and fascination. Whether it be seen in all its breadth from Montreux, Champéry, or Lac Champex, or as a single peak from Bex or St. Maurice, it is unique, inimitable. No wonder that it was Javelle’s first absorbing love; no wonder that Juste Olivier and Eugène Rambert were moved to voice its mastering charms; no wonder that, before these other wielders of poetic pens, Senancour made his home at its feet and wrote rhapsodically of it in his famousObermann.

THE DENT DU MIDI, FROM VILLARS

We have arrived at Morgins; or, at least, we have it now before us, lying below the slopes we are descending—sheltered, secluded, rustic little Morgins, with its encircling hills, its dark pine forests and ruddy stream, its hotels and châlets embedded in green, and its quiet deep-green lake lying beside the Col de Morgins, whence a road winds over into Savoy, down the Valley of Abondance to Evian and Thonon on the shores of Lac Léman.[18]The red iron waters of Morginshave been long famous in fighting anæmia, and the quietude of the place itself is sought in summer by those suffering from overwork. But of late it has acquired a new fame, almost, if not quite, eclipsing the old: a fame that Mr Arnold Lunn, one of the best known and most intrepid of ski-ers in the Alps, has consented to explain: the fame of

“The Englishman has marked out a few corners of the Alps as being exclusively British. There are, however, neutral zones where Britons and Continentals meet, but the Englishman keeps in the main to certain well-known routes. You will find him at Zermatt, at Grindelwald, at Binn, and at Arolla. At Champex he will be outnumbered, and at Morgins he was, until quite recently, entirely unknown. It was the discovery of Morgins as a winter sports centre that brought the tardy Englishman to this retiring valley.

“Years ago I had looked across the waters of Léman to the range of fronting hills, and idly wondered whether some hidden and silent valley lurked among their recesses. Leslie Stephen’s “Bye Day in the Alps”, which I discovered in an oldCornhill—it was not reprinted in the “Playground of Europe”—gaveform and personality to an outstanding sentinel of these Savoy hills, but it was some time before I explored for myself these outlying heights that guard the central citadels of the Alps. Since then I have often revisited the long defile that leads to Morgins.

“You reach Morgins by a curious little mountain railway that connects Monthey and Champéry. At Troistorrents you leave the train and prepare for a sleigh drive up the valley which branches off to the right. Troistorrents is a characteristic Alpine village. It lies in the heart of the Val d’Illiez, one of the loveliest of Alpine glens, which is still quite unspoiled. The big hotels of Champéry are hidden from view and there is nothing to disturb the quiet music of the three streams that meet below the parish church, and give to Troistorrents its name. Of course the chief glory of this valley is the incomparable Dent du Midi. This mountain, or rather this grouping of separate and successive rock towers, has a curious fascination; it is so distinctive. There are domes not unlike Mont Blanc, pyramids that resemble the Matterhorn, peaks very like the Weisshorn; but in the whole Alpine range you will find no match to the Dent du Midi. Its outline is unique. Its history is interesting, and considering its moderate height it has attracted a very large share of Alpine literature. Like so many mountains, it was first climbed by the parish priest of a neighbouringvalley.[19]Its conquest occurred in 1784. Sixty years later five men of the Valais climbed the beautiful eastern peak that rises like a lion above the towers of Bex. The last turret, the Eperon, only yielded its secret as late as 1892.

“Those who have read Javelle’s delightful Alpine memoirs will remember the fascination which this peak influenced on the great climber. ‘I am completely captivated,’ he writes, ‘by the Dents du Midi … is there anything astonishing in it? For two years it has been before my eyes every moment of the day.[20]The eastward aspect of my window provided that the first image on which my waking eyes should rest was its graceful and slender profile. At table a malicious fate had chosen my place so well that between my two opposite companions the seven peaks of thearêtewere visible to me in a frame. What I specially love is the eastern peak. She may not be the highest, but is she not the proudest, the slenderest, the most beautiful? Is it not the peak which gives the mountain all its character, and, in spite of the few metres by which her western sister overtops her, is it not she who first strikes the beholder and who dwells in the memory?’”

VILLARS: THE MOUNTAINS OF SAVOY

“Let us first dispose of the rough guidebook facts. Let me tell you that Morgins is 4800 feet above thesea level; that it enjoys more than its fair share of snow; that it is one of the great ski-ing centres of the Alps; and that the sun can find its way to the rink during the best part of the day, while it discreetly keeps off the northern ski-ing slopes save for a short interval too brief to damage the snow.

“Each winter sport centre has its own peculiar atmosphere. Life at Morgins is comparatively peaceful. We danced, of course; we played the usual absurd games—trundling the potato and so forth—but we were unmolested by a potato-trundling committee with a special and peculiar badge. We were not troubled by those who come to the winter Alps in order that they may bask in the sun. The men of Morgins were built of sterner stuff. Morgins will go down to history as the home of a great renaissance. The English School of Skaters, driven out of their old shrines, have founded a new Temple at Morgins. I do not know much about skating myself, though I believe I am the worst skater that ever passed the third-class test, but I am told by those who do that English skating reflects our national characteristics with most uncanny acuteness. I gather that the main difference between the two schools is ethical. The foreigner, when he wishes to make a ‘3’ turn, waves his arms, kicks his leg into the air, sways his body, and in general advertises his skill with nolittle success. The ladies stand round and applaud, while the English skater curls a contemptuous upper lip. Not for him the vulgarréclame. Body stiff, unemployed leg gummed firmly into his trousers, arms rigid … a twinkle of the shoulder blade … a slight movement of the little finger … and the hardest of ‘B’ turns is a thing of the discreetly successful past … no ladies stop and applaud … only the initiated can detect the amazing skill involved in this modest performance. The aim of the Continental school is to emphasize apparent difficulty. The ideal of the English school is to conceal difficulty. They skate for the joy of the thing, careless of applause. The strong silent reserve of the Briton that scorns vulgar advertisement finds perfect expression in the sedate, dignified curves of the English school … I hope I have made myself clear.

“But this is not an article on the rise and fall and subsequent renaissance of the chaste and refined school of skating. I must content myself with stating that Morgins is the winter home of the great apostle of the counter-reformation. Mr. Humphry Cobb pilots his novices into the true faith. Mr. Cobb and Rudolph Bauman between them could make ice at the Equator, and the rink at Morgins is all that devotion and genius can achieve. Ice making, as Bauman understands the craft, is one of the fine arts.

“But it is as a ski-ing centre that Morgins is famous. The classic expedition is, of course, the Porte du Soleil. A mighty host left for this pass the morning after my arrival. In the night it had rained at other centres which shall be nameless, but at Morgins, which is a well-behaved spot, it had snowed, and the old crust was covered with a beautiful dusting of fresh snow some two or three inches deep. It was a glorious day. The clouds, that so often drift up after rain, rested on the summits of the hills, and showed through casual openings the blue sky of an Alpine winter. We wandered slowly up a narrow valley, along a stream gagged with the covering of snowdrifts, between pines that had not yet shaken off the new load of snow. We soon branched off to the left, and marched up open slopes to a little châlet, where we had lunch. Here he who had carried the beer had an opportunity of testing the ratio of potential thirst as anticipated in the valley, when the rücksacks were being packed, with the actual thirst as exhibited on the mountain-side, when rücksacks were unloaded. After the customary pipe, and the still more customary remarks, such as ‘Who would believe that one could sit in the sun with one’s coat off in mid winter;’ or ‘Fancy the poor fellows grinding away in their city offices;’ or again, ‘Just think of the …’; after, in short, we had smoked all the tobacco that there was, drunk allthe beer that there was, made all the quips that there were, ruptured all the infinitives that were still united, and exhausted every cliché dear to those who describe the Alps in winter—after all this (the proper ritual of a ski-ing lunch) we turned upwards once more and marched gaily forward to meet the pass. A long upward stretch brought us to the foot of the last slope, a few more tacks and the Dent du Midi shot out beyond the portals of the sun. At any time this view must be singularly beautiful; as we saw it the vision from the pass had a peculiar loveliness. Fleecy clouds driven up by the breeze, ‘shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind’, rested on the highest snows without materially restricting the view. The battlements of the Dent du Midi were free from haze, and the upper reaches of the Val d’Illiez, sadly brown, formed a satisfying contrast to the snowy slopes round Morgins. Poor Champéry! Scores of disconsolate exiles, thirsting for the real winter, deserted Champéry for Morgins during the course of the winter.

VILLARS: A PEEP OF THE DENT DE MORCLES

“Of the descent it is hard to speak with decent restraint. There are some two thousand feet leading direct from the pass to the glen. As we found them the snow was in perfect condition. One put one’s ski together and let gravity do the rest. You start off with a thousand feet of easy, gradual slopes, which you can take nearly straight. There is not a singledifficulty to give one pause; it is all plain sailing, or rather plain ski-ing. Then comes a slight ascent, promptly followed by one of the best bits of running in the district. If you can take this stretch of some thousand feet without using your sticks or pulling up you are something of a runner. You begin with a gentle swoop down into a hollow, you swing round by a telemark or stemming turn, and then you have a wide choice of some good snow for the next lap. Follows a somewhat steep slope, which will give you a chance of putting in four sharp curves; swing round to the right, and then take the last stretch of a hundred feet straight, and wind up with a Christiania before the stream. The rest of the run home is not so good, but it affords some very excellent short bits and some pretty work through the woods.

“An alternative to this expedition is to cross the Porte du Soleil to Champéry. You start with a stiffish traverse, and then spin down some divine slopes to the Col de Coux, winding up with a run down an easy pass to Champéry. In a good season, when there is plenty of snow at Champéry, this run is well worth making. After an excellent light repast at Champéry you return by road to Troistorrents, quite enjoyable ski-ing of its kind, and then home either on foot or by sleigh. Or you might sleep at Champéry and return the next day over the same pass.

“The second expedition was almost as good as the Porte du Soleil. In fact I am inclined to give it the place of honour. Much the same party started off quite gaily for the Bellevue. We climbed steepish sunny slopes above the hotel for a couple of hours to a typical little châlet, where we had lunch. One of the party was something of an epicure, and he had provided himself with a spirit lamp, and so we had the benefit of hot tea—a great luxury. After lunch two of us climbed still higher, to the actual summit. It was well worth the slight additional toil. The view was lovelier than I had anticipated. The Bellevue is well placed, as it commands the great giants of the Pennine Alps. In the west Mont Blanc towered into a stainless sky. The Dent du Midi showed up well above Champéry, and beyond on the left the Combin showed terrace upon terrace of dazzling snows. I fancy we also saw the Weisshorn and Dent Blanche, but I am not certain on these points. Certainly the chiefs of the Oberland greeted us from beyond the Diablerets, and my companion hailed with joy the cone of the Wetterhorn, which he had climbed in earlier days. At our feet lay the long arm of Geneva, and we made out with interest Chillon’s snow-white battlements. The winter resorts above Montreux looked woefully brown and bare of snow, and we turned with satisfaction to contrast them withthe white slopes of Morgins. We were more than ever convinced that Morgins enjoys even more snow than a place of its very respectable altitude deserves. The view from the Bellevue has the charm of the prospects from those lesser summits of the Alps that are not too near the greater peaks to be overshadowed, nor too remote to lose the essential majesty of the greater giants. The blending of lake and forest, quiet snow-clad hills, and forest-bound cliffs has a charm lacking in the innermost recesses of the chain. The descent to the châlet was very fine. The first hundred feet required some care, but this was followed by a long slope just steep enough to take at full speed without any fear of a fall. A gentle swing and a beautiful piece of snow brought us back to the rest of the party. We then spent a merry half-hour or so practising swings, and once more turned to the pass between the Bellevue and the Corbeau. This brought us on to the northern slopes, and a perfect dive over steep, but not too steep, gradients led to an opening in the wood, and by the time we had run through the forest we felt that we had acquitted ourselves tolerably well, and enjoyed some capital sport. But there was much good snow still to furrow. Some long, open slopes of good snow gave plenty of opportunity to put into practice the swings and turns we had been performing so gailyafter lunch. These ended, the snow became worse, and the last short stretch into the valley was not a joy; we had descended some distance below Morgins, and had pierced the belt below which rain had descended instead of welcome snow. This short bit was of very brief duration, and only served to accentuate the glorious running above. At Vonne we had a cup of tea and some delightful honey, and so home across the short road pass.

“These are the only two expeditions which I can vouch for from personal knowledge. But unless the map lies, and unless other runners at Morgins also speak the thing which is not, there must be a number of other expeditions up to this standard. There are fine slopes between Vonne and Chatel, and a jolly expedition can be made to La Chapelle. The Val de Morgins and its bounding hills still offer plenty of prizes to the diligent explorer after new routes, and the pass at the head of the valley should certainly be crossed. For the mountaineer there are fine high-level routes to Salvan, Sixt, and Chamonix, and I fancy that the Dent du Midi would yield to a determined attack, but I should advise the ski-runner to tackle it from the south side, and not from Champéry. It is best attacked in winter from the Salanfe side, though this hardly comes into the category of Morgins excursions. The rocks of the DentJaune have a southern aspect, and should go quite well in winter.

“But Morgins has other things to offer the visitor besides the best ski-ing in this part of the Alps. (My own private conviction is that the ski-ing at Morgins will take a lot of beating, go where you will.) There is an excellent skating and curling rink, beautifully placed, within full reach of the sun’s attack. Mr. E. F. Benson thought very highly of the situation and upkeep of the rink. Then there is some very good tobogganing, and I believe an ice-run is to be built another winter. There are some glorious rambling walks. You can slip over to France in half an hour and take tea at Vonne; and in the evening there are all the amusements associated with life in winter-sports hotels. There is bridge for the sedate, and bumps for the elderly, and dances for children and Nature’s children, of whom there were not a few to be found within a mile of Morgins. And there is—but why add to this catalogue of good things? Those who have gone to Morgins once will return there, and those who have not will soon seek out this valley in the Savoy hills, and find a certain reward.

“ARNOLD LUNN.”

Time presses, and to gain Champéry we must either pass over the Col de la Chavanette or else go back to Troistorrents and thence by the village of Val d’Illiez. Like Villars, Champéry has experienced phenomenal development within the past few years. Although for long it has been patronized as a delightful summer resort, it has more than doubled its importance since its condition in winter was discovered to be anything but disagreeable. This, of course, has been the common experience of such places over almost the whole of Alpine Switzerland, and it appears to synchronize with the arrival of the ski from the north. Thelugehas done something, and so has the bobsleigh, towards Switzerland’s new-found prosperity in winter; but the ski has contributed the most. Nor has the ski brought a revelation only to visitors; it has caused even the peasantry to take a new delight in their surroundings. At Champéry, for instance, one may see not alone the men and boys, but also the women and girls—wearing businesslike trousers—practising the art on the rapid snow-slopes.[21]Yet it is but yesterday thatthe only outdoor winter distraction here was luging down the village street and over the snow-covered pastures; whilst strangers were noticeable by their almost entire absence. It was in those quiet days at Champéry, and about Christmas-time, that was enacted one of the most impressive, haunting scenes that ever I have witnessed in the Alps. Two young men from Lausanne (if memory serves me, one was an American) started from Salvan to walk over the Col de Susanfe (about 7500 feet) to Champéry. As nothing more was heard from them, parties of guides from both Salvan and Champéry started out to find them. The search was ineffectual for several days, but at length the bodies of the poor fellows were found below the Pas d’Ancel. I shall never forget the sight, as the bodies, wrapped in sacking, were brought upon hand-sledges through the village after nightfall—the weird light of the torches upon the snow and the awed faces of the villagers; the sturdy band of guides, sad-visaged and weary; and the tense silence of it all nothing but the scrunch of frozen snow and the bated prayers of women. Here was one of those strong, aery scenes which bring one face to face with the grim side of life in the Alps, and with the people’s stanch devotion, however difficult, however daunting.

CHAMPÉRY: THE DENT DU MIDI

It may be that I look upon things Alpine with theparticular eye of the enthusiast for solitude; at any rate I think that Champéry, in spite of its great gaiety andentrainin winter and summer, is really its most radiant, loveliest self in spring and autumn. The lofty precipices of the Dent du Midi, the great rock-masses of the Dent de Bonaveau and the Dents Blanches are scarcely more bewitching or inspiring than when dressed in the first snows of autumn or the receding snows of spring. With what transporting shine and fire does the Dent du Midi reflect the autumn sunset; with what arresting energy do the Dents Blanches in spring rid themselves of their winter covering! Never can ravishing dreamland seem so real, so concrete, as when, amid autumn’s soft, white, drifting mists, the snowy summits of the Dent du Midi glow clear coral-pink and crimson; never is the renewal of life proclaimed more loudly or impressively than when, beyond a calm foreground of glistening crocus and dainty soldanella, titanic avalanches hurl themselves upon the plateau of Barmaz.

Champéry and its surroundings are a nest of beauty-spots, in which flowers flash and sparkle like a myriad jewels. Unfortunately no space remains for detailing these many charms; even not to tell where the white rhododendron grows. There is, however, one spot that cannot pass without some notice: the exquisitevallonof Susanfe, by which climbers usually ascendthe Dent du Midi. Small as it is, it has all the sweet severity and wild attractiveness of true Alpine circumstance. Barmaz may possess a potent lure, so may the Col de Coux and the Porte du Soleil, but untamed, unspoilt Susanfe, though more difficult of access, is pre-eminently seductive; it is, in fact, the outstanding jewel in this neighbourhood of Champéry. Desolation is there, to be sure, in the hanging glacier and lingering snow, the gaunt rock precipices and tumbled boulders, the avalanche-swept turf, and cold-grey screes; but there, also, are the myriad flowers of brightest Alpine hues, the swift and babbling stream rushing to throw itself into the abyss below Bonaveau, the little blue-green icy lake bordered in part by walls of sunlit snow, and over all the glorious solitude at times quite awesome.

Once upon a spotless autumn day I was sketching there belated spring flowers next the snow. All was still, save for thepeek-peekof some small linnet-like mountain bird among the boulders by the glacier-stream, and the occasional shrill alarm-cry of marmots disturbed whilst collecting grass for making tight and snug their prospective winter quarters sounds which, with their echoes, merely accentuated the prevailing silence. Then of a sudden the air was rent as if by a terrible explosion, and, looking up, I saw tons upon tons of sea-green ice split from the glacier and come roaring,hurtling down over the rock-wall. The noise for a while was deafening. Then all once again was silent, with nothing to tell of the giant uproar but the amethyst-blue scar above the precipice. Never in my life have I felt solitude so acutely; never have I felt so insignificant and paltry. Not far off among the edelweiss, I knew, was a shepherd and his flock of three or four hundred sheep; but in the presence of this devastating force of “inert” nature, solitude and loneliness were mine in all their belittling power.

“I am just now, as you may see,Very unfit to put so strange a thoughtIn an intelligible dress of words;But take it as my trust.”

“I am just now, as you may see,

Very unfit to put so strange a thought

In an intelligible dress of words;

But take it as my trust.”

FOOTNOTES[1]SeeLausannein this series.[2]Champéry 1049 metres; Villars 1256 metres.[3]SeeLucernein this series.[4]This was at a time when the bulls were let out by day. Now there is restriction upon the liberty of these uneven-tempered animals.[5]Geologists hold that in the remote past these two mountains were connected and formed a continuous chain.[6]Goethe, who visited St. Maurice with the Duke of Weimar in 1779, probably saw this treasure, as do most visitors, but his mind seems to have been greatly occupied by the bad state of the roads.[7]The Croix de Javernaz may be seen in the picture of the Dent de Morcles taken from Bex in spring.[8]The hot, drying south wind from Italy. Sometimes up at Villars one can hear it roaring down below in the valley as it rushes through the gap at St. Maurice.[9]SeeLausannein this series.[10]Hopeless pessimists there are everywhere and in every domain, but if there is one quarter of the globe where their unqualified discourse is out of place it is in the Alps. On the fiftieth anniversary (1913) of the Swiss Alpine Club there were those who did not hesitate to say: “Close your doors; your usefulness is past!” Just fancy! Why, the club was never more virile in its life; never more youthful; never more useful! The Alps have still much to give and tell men; in fact, as regards the generality of mankind, they are a mine of physical health and mental wealth that so far has only been scratched. And the club is needed to this end.[11]There are a number of Forclazs in the Alps. This one is a small village below the Chamossaire and facing Sépey.[12]The rare excellence of the ice is in no small measure due to the insistent care of the Vice-President of the Skating Club, Mr. A. G. Topham. Colonel Cobbett, Hon. Sec. of the National Skating Association, is a member of the Villars Sports Club.[13]Mr. A. Henderson Bishop, Vice-President of the Royal Caledonian Curling Club, is President of the Villars Curling Club, and Captain Holmes Tarn is Patron.[14]SeeLausannein this series.[15]Let there be no misunderstanding among the uninitiated: these skeletons are a form ofluge, which is a Swiss toboggan.[16]This admirable custom also finds a place at Villars and Champéry. For their pleasures in the Alps visitors owe much to the kindliness of the Swiss people, however much may be said about the manifest benefit brought to the country by its so-calledindustrie des étrangers. It makes for less heartburnings and more good fellowship to bring the Swiss themselves into the circle of our enjoyment in their Fatherland; and it is a thoughtful attention that would bear extension.[17]These rough and steep old roads are met with all over Switzerland, where they are crossed and recrossed by the modern, less rapid, and more circuitous tourist roads. Many of them probably date back to Roman times, if not further, and are very suggestive of the extreme hardship and toil of peasant life in the past—that sturdy peasant life which has done so much to make Switzerland what it is.[18]SeeLausannein this series.[19]The curé of Champéry.[20]Javelle was a schoolmaster at Vevey, on Lac Léman.[21]The old custom of wearing trousers for outdoor work by the women and girls of Champéry is not as usual now as it used to be when strangers were rare in the land. By their manner of regarding this sensible costume, visitors occasioned shyness; indeed, I believe that some years ago the parish priest advised the women not to wear trousers except in the dead season or upon the higher pastures.

[1]SeeLausannein this series.

[2]Champéry 1049 metres; Villars 1256 metres.

[3]SeeLucernein this series.

[4]This was at a time when the bulls were let out by day. Now there is restriction upon the liberty of these uneven-tempered animals.

[5]Geologists hold that in the remote past these two mountains were connected and formed a continuous chain.

[6]Goethe, who visited St. Maurice with the Duke of Weimar in 1779, probably saw this treasure, as do most visitors, but his mind seems to have been greatly occupied by the bad state of the roads.

[7]The Croix de Javernaz may be seen in the picture of the Dent de Morcles taken from Bex in spring.

[8]The hot, drying south wind from Italy. Sometimes up at Villars one can hear it roaring down below in the valley as it rushes through the gap at St. Maurice.

[9]SeeLausannein this series.

[10]Hopeless pessimists there are everywhere and in every domain, but if there is one quarter of the globe where their unqualified discourse is out of place it is in the Alps. On the fiftieth anniversary (1913) of the Swiss Alpine Club there were those who did not hesitate to say: “Close your doors; your usefulness is past!” Just fancy! Why, the club was never more virile in its life; never more youthful; never more useful! The Alps have still much to give and tell men; in fact, as regards the generality of mankind, they are a mine of physical health and mental wealth that so far has only been scratched. And the club is needed to this end.

[11]There are a number of Forclazs in the Alps. This one is a small village below the Chamossaire and facing Sépey.

[12]The rare excellence of the ice is in no small measure due to the insistent care of the Vice-President of the Skating Club, Mr. A. G. Topham. Colonel Cobbett, Hon. Sec. of the National Skating Association, is a member of the Villars Sports Club.

[13]Mr. A. Henderson Bishop, Vice-President of the Royal Caledonian Curling Club, is President of the Villars Curling Club, and Captain Holmes Tarn is Patron.

[14]SeeLausannein this series.

[15]Let there be no misunderstanding among the uninitiated: these skeletons are a form ofluge, which is a Swiss toboggan.

[16]This admirable custom also finds a place at Villars and Champéry. For their pleasures in the Alps visitors owe much to the kindliness of the Swiss people, however much may be said about the manifest benefit brought to the country by its so-calledindustrie des étrangers. It makes for less heartburnings and more good fellowship to bring the Swiss themselves into the circle of our enjoyment in their Fatherland; and it is a thoughtful attention that would bear extension.

[17]These rough and steep old roads are met with all over Switzerland, where they are crossed and recrossed by the modern, less rapid, and more circuitous tourist roads. Many of them probably date back to Roman times, if not further, and are very suggestive of the extreme hardship and toil of peasant life in the past—that sturdy peasant life which has done so much to make Switzerland what it is.

[18]SeeLausannein this series.

[19]The curé of Champéry.

[20]Javelle was a schoolmaster at Vevey, on Lac Léman.

[21]The old custom of wearing trousers for outdoor work by the women and girls of Champéry is not as usual now as it used to be when strangers were rare in the land. By their manner of regarding this sensible costume, visitors occasioned shyness; indeed, I believe that some years ago the parish priest advised the women not to wear trousers except in the dead season or upon the higher pastures.

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