There Is But Little Traffic On Ordinary Occasions
Along Its Broad Ways, And Customers In Its Well-Stocked Shops Are
Few And Far Between.
This day being Sunday, it was busier than
usual, and its promenades were thronged with citizens and country
folk in holiday attire, among whom the Southern peasants, wearing
their quaint, centuries-old costume, stood out in picturesque
relief.
Fashion, in its world-wide crusade against variety and its
bitter contest with form and colour, has recoiled, defeated for the
present from the mountain fastnesses of Bavaria. Still, as Sunday
or gala-day comes round, the broad-shouldered, sunburnt shepherd of
the Oberland dons his gay green-embroidered jacket over his snowy
shirt, fastens his short knee-breeches with a girdle round his
waist, claps his high, feather-crowned hat upon his waving curls,
and with bare legs, shod in mighty boots, strides over the hill-
sides to his Gretchen's door.
She is waiting for him, you may be sure, ready dressed; and a very
sweet, old-world picture she makes, standing beneath the great
overhanging gables of the wooden chalet. She, too, favours the
national green; but, as relief, there is no lack of bonny red
ribbons, to flutter in the wind, and, underneath the ornamented
skirt, peeps out a bright-hued petticoat. Around her ample breast
she wears a dark tight-fitting bodice, laced down the front. (I
think this garment is called a stomacher, but I am not sure, as I
have never liked to ask.) Her square shoulders are covered with the
whitest of white linen.
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