Chapter 3: The Wonderful Alpine Horn

When the little boys and girls, who read these Swiss fairy tales, grow up to be big and travel in Switzerland, they will enjoy the Alpine horn.

Nearly every shepherd lad in the mountains knows how to blow it. It is made of wood, and is about half as long as an ordinary broom. Its butt, or heavy end, rests on the ground. When a man blows a long blast, the sound, at first, when one is too near, does not seem to be very pleasing; for distance lends enchantment to the sound. But wait a moment, and listen! Far off across the valley, the strains are caught up, and sent back from the tops of the high mountains. Then it sounds as if a great choir of angels had come down from Heaven to sing glory to God, and to bring greetings to all good souls. Nowhere in all the world is there such sweet music made by echoes.

Sometimes there is a double set of echoes, like one rainbow inside of another. Then, it makes one think of a choir of little angels, that sing a second time, after the first heavenly chorus has ceased.

How the Swiss people first received the Alpine horn, as a gift from the fairies, is told in the story of a faithful shepherd’s boy, named Perrod. He had to work hard all day, in tending the cows that grazed on the high mountain pastures, which the natives call the Alps. But when foreign people speak of “the Alps,” they mean the ranges of mountains themselves.

In winter, these level stretches of ground are covered with snow and ice, but by the month of June, it is warm enough for the grass and flowers to grow. Then the cowboys and cheese makers go up with their cattle. At night, Perrod, having milked the cows, skimmed the cream off the milk, hung the great caldron over the fire, and made the cheese.

By this time, that is, well into the late hours, Perrod was almost tired to death. After calling “good-night” to Luquette, his sweetheart, who lived across the valley, and hearing her greeting in answer, he climbed up the ladder, into the loft, and lay down on his bed. This was only a pile of straw, but he was asleep almost the very moment he touched it, for he was a healthy lad and the mountain air was better than medicine. It was especially good for sound sleep, and he knew he must get up early, at sunrise, to lead the cows and goats out to pasture. Then the all-day concert, of tinkling bells, began.

But this night, instead of slumber, without once waking until day dawn, Perrod had closed his eyes, for only about three hours, when he heard a crackling sound, which waked him up. He thought, at first, the wind was blowing hard enough to rip off some of the bark strips from the roof of the chalet, and was tumbling down some of the heavy stones laid on to keep them in place. But when he saw the reflection, on the walls and ceiling, of a bright fire, he crawled quietly out of bed. Then he peeped down and through the cracks in the board floor, to see what was going on.

Three men were around the fire. One, the biggest fellow of the three, was hanging up the caldron on the hooks. The second piled on more wood, while the others warmed their hands in the bright blaze.

The three men were all different in appearance, the one from the other, and a queer looking lot they were. The tremendously tall man seemed to be a giant, in weight and size. His sleeves were rolled up, showing that his arms were sunburnt, until they were very dark. When he lifted up the caldron, to hang it up, or take it down, his muscles stood out like whipcords.