THE ICE MAIDEN


    I. LITTLE RUDY

    WE will pay a visit to Switzerland, and wander through
that country of mountains, whose steep and rocky sides are
overgrown with forest trees. Let us climb to the dazzling
snow-fields at their summits, and descend again to the green
meadows beneath, through which rivers and brooks rush along as
if they could not quickly enough reach the sea and vanish.
Fiercely shines the sun over those deep valleys, as well as
upon the heavy masses of snow which lie on the mountains.

    During the year these accumulations thaw or fall in the
rolling avalance, or are piled up in shining glaciers. Two of
these glaciers lie in the broad, rocky cliffs, between the
Schreckhorn and the Wetterhorn, near the little town of
Grindelwald. They are wonderful to behold, and therefore in
the summer time strangers come here from all parts of the
world to see them. They cross snow-covered mountains, and
travel through the deep valleys, or ascend for hours, higher
and still higher, the valleys appearing to sink lower and
lower as they proceed, and become as small as if seen from an
air balloon. Over the lofty summits of these mountains the
clouds often hang like a dark veil; while beneath in the
valley, where many brown, wooden houses are scattered about,
the bright rays of the sun may be shining upon a little
brilliant patch of green, making it appear almost transparent.
The waters foam and dash along in the valleys beneath; the
streams from above trickle and murmur as they fall down the
rocky mountain's side, looking like glittering silver bands.

    On both sides of the mountain-path stand these little
wooden houses; and, as within, there are many children and
many mouths to feed, each house has its own little potato
garden. These children rush out in swarms, and surround
travellers, whether on foot or in carriages. They are all
clever at making a bargain. They offer for sale the sweetest
little toy-houses, models of the mountain cottages in
Switzerland. Whether it be rain or sunshine, these crowds of
children are always to be seen with their wares.

    About twenty years ago, there might be seen occasionally,
standing at a short distance from the other children, a little
boy, who was also anxious to sell his curious wares. He had an
earnest, expressive countenance, and held the box containing
his carved toys tightly with both hands, as if unwilling to
part with it. His earnest look, and being also a very little
boy, made him noticed by the strangers; so that he often sold
the most, without knowing why. An hour's walk farther up the
ascent lived his grandfather, who cut and carved the pretty
little toy-houses; and in the old man's room stood a large
press, full of all sorts of carved things- nut-crackers,
knives and forks, boxes with beautifully carved foliage,
leaping chamois. It contained everything that could delight
the eyes of a child. But the boy, who was named Rudy, looked
with still greater pleasure and longing at some old fire-arms
which hung upon the rafters, under the ceiling of the room.
His grandfather promised him that he should have them some
day, but that he must first grow big and strong, and learn how
to use them. Small as he was, the goats were placed in his
care, and a good goat-keeper should also be a good climber,
and such Rudy was; he sometimes, indeed, climbed higher than
the goats, for he was fond of seeking for birds'-nests at the
top of high trees; he was bold and daring, but was seldom seen
to smile, excepting when he stood by the roaring cataract, or
heard the descending roll of the avalanche. He never played
with the other children, and was not seen with them, unless
his grandfather sent him down to sell his curious workmanship.
Rudy did not much like trade; he loved to climb the mountains,
or to sit by his grandfather and listen to his tales of olden
times, or of the people in Meyringen, the place of his birth.

    "In the early ages of the world," said the old man, "these
people could not be found in Switzerland. They are a colony
from the north, where their ancestors still dwell, and are
called Swedes."

    This was something for Rudy to know, but he learnt more
from other sources, particularly from the domestic animals who
belonged to the house. One was a large dog, called Ajola,
which had belonged to his father; and the other was a tom-cat.
This cat stood very high in Rudy's favor, for he had taught
him to climb.

    "Come out on the roof with me," said the cat; and Rudy
quite understood him, for the language of fowls, ducks, cats,
and dogs, is as easily understood by a young child as his own
native tongue. But it must be at the age when grandfather's
stick becomes a neighing horse, with head, legs, and tail.
Some children retain these ideas later than others, and they
are considered backwards and childish for their age. People
say so; but is it so?

    "Come out on the roof with me, little Rudy," was the first
thing he heard the cat say, and Rudy understood him. "What
people say about falling down is all nonsense," continued the
cat; "you will not fall, unless you are afraid. Come, now, set
one foot here and another there, and feel your way with your
fore-feet. Keep your eyes wide open, and move softly, and if
you come to a hole jump over it, and cling fast as I do." And
this was just what Rudy did. He was often on the sloping roof
with the cat, or on the tops of high trees. But, more
frequently, higher still on the ridges of the rocks where puss
never came.

    "Higher, higher!" cried the trees and the bushes, "see to
what height we have grown, and how fast we hold, even to the
narrow edges of the rocks."

    Rudy often reached the top of the mountain before the
sunrise, and there inhaled his morning draught of the fresh,
invigorating mountain air,- God's own gift, which men call the
sweet fragrance of plant and herb on the mountain-side, and
the mint and wild thyme in the valleys. The overhanging clouds
absorb all heaviness from the air, and the winds convey them
away over the pine-tree summits. The spirit of fragrance,
light and fresh, remained behind, and this was Rudy's morning
draught. The sunbeams- those blessing-bringing daughters of
the sun- kissed his cheeks. Vertigo might be lurking on the
watch, but he dared not approach him. The swallows, who had
not less than seven nests in his grandfather's house, flew up
to him and his goats, singing, "We and you, you and we." They
brought him greetings from his grandfather's house, even from
two hens, the only birds of the household; but Rudy was not
intimate with them.

    Although so young and such a little fellow, Rudy had
travelled a great deal. He was born in the canton of Valais,
and brought to his grandfather over the mountains. He had
walked to Staubbach- a little town that seems to flutter in
the air like a silver veil- the glittering, snow-clad mountain
Jungfrau. He had also been to the great glaciers; but this is
connected with a sad story, for here his mother met her death,
and his grandfather used to say that all Rudy's childish
merriment was lost from that time. His mother had written in a
letter, that before he was a year old he had laughed more than
he cried; but after his fall into the snow-covered crevasse,
his disposition had completely changed. The grandfather seldom
spoke of this, but the fact was generally known. Rudy's father
had been a postilion, and the large dog which now lived in his
grandfather's cottage had always followed him on his journeys
over the Simplon to the lake of Geneva. Rudy's relations, on
his father's side, lived in the canton of Valais, in the
valley of the Rhone. His uncle was a chamois hunter, and a
well-known guide. Rudy was only a year old when his father
died, and his mother was anxious to return with her child to
her own relations, who lived in the Bernese Oberland. Her
father dwelt at a few hours' distance from Grindelwald; he was
a carver in wood, and gained so much by it that he had plenty
to live upon. She set out homewards in the month of June,
carrying her infant in her arms, and, accompanied by two
chamois hunters, crossed the Gemmi on her way to Grindelwald.
They had already left more than half the journey behind them.
They had crossed high ridges, and traversed snow-fields; they
could even see her native valley, with its familiar wooden
cottages. They had only one more glacier to climb. Some newly
fallen snow concealed a cleft which, though it did not extend
to the foaming waters in the depths beneath, was still much
deeper than the height of a man. The young woman, with the
child in her arms, slipped upon it, sank in, and disappeared.
Not a shriek, not a groan was heard; nothing but the whining
of a little child. More than an hour elapsed before her two
companions could obtain from the nearest house ropes and poles
to assist in raising them; and it was with much exertion that
they at last succeeded in raising from the crevasse what
appeared to be two dead bodies. Every means was used to
restore them to life. With the child they were successful, but
not with the mother; so the old grandfather received his
daughter's little son into his house an orphan,- a little boy
who laughed more than he cried; but it seemed as if laughter
had left him in the cold ice-world into which he had fallen,
where, as the Swiss peasants say, the souls of the lost are
confined till the judgment-day.

    The glaciers appear as if a rushing stream had been frozen
in its course, and pressed into blocks of green crystal,
which, balanced one upon another, form a wondrous palace of
crystal for the Ice Maiden- the queen of the glaciers. It is
she whose mighty power can crush the traveller to death, and
arrest the flowing river in its course. She is also a child of
the air, and with the swiftness of the chamois she can reach
the snow-covered mountain tops, where the boldest mountaineer
has to cut footsteps in the ice to ascend. She will sail on a
frail pine-twig over the raging torrents beneath, and spring
lightly from one iceberg to another, with her long, snow-white
hair flowing around her, and her dark-green robe glittering
like the waters of the deep Swiss lakes. "Mine is the power to
seize and crush," she cried. "Once a beautiful boy was stolen
from me by man,- a boy whom I had kissed, but had not kissed
to death. He is again among mankind, and tends the goats on
the mountains. He is always climbing higher and higher, far
away from all others, but not from me. He is mine; I will send
for him." And she gave Vertigo the commission.

    It was summer, and the Ice Maiden was melting amidst the
green verdure, when Vertigo swung himself up and down. Vertigo
has many brothers, quite a troop of them, and the Ice Maiden
chose the strongest among them. They exercise their power in
different ways, and everywhere. Some sit on the banisters of
steep stairs, others on the outer rails of lofty towers, or
spring like squirrels along the ridges of the mountains.
Others tread the air as a swimmer treads the water, and lure
their victims here and there till they fall into the deep
abyss. Vertigo and the Ice Maiden clutch at human beings, as
the polypus seizes upon all that comes within its reach. And
now Vertigo was to seize Rudy.

    "Seize him, indeed," cried Vertigo; "I cannot do it. That
monster of a cat has taught him her tricks. That child of the
human race has a power within him which keeps me at a
distance; I cannot possibly reach the boy when he hangs from
the branches of trees, over the precipice; or I would gladly
tickle his feet, and send him heels over head through the air;
but I cannot accomplish it."

    "We must accomplish it," said the Ice Maiden; "either you
or I must; and I will- I will!"

    "No, no!" sounded through the air, like an echo on the
mountain church bells chime. It was an answer in song, in the
melting tones of a chorus from others of nature's spirits-
good and loving spirits, the daughters of the sunbeam. They
who place themselves in a circle every evening on the mountain
peaks; there they spread out their rose-colored wings, which,
as the sun sinks, become more flaming red, until the lofty
Alps seem to burn with fire. Men call this the Alpine glow.
After the sun has set, they disappear within the white snow on
the mountain-tops, and slumber there till sunrise, when they
again come forth. They have great love for flowers, for
butterflies, and for mankind; and from among the latter they
had chosen little Rudy. "You shall not catch him; you shall
not seize him!" they sang.

    "Greater and stronger than he have I seized!" said the Ice
Maiden.

    Then the daughters of the sun sang a song of the
traveller, whose cloak had been carried away by the wind. "The
wind took the covering, but not the man; it could even seize
upon him, but not hold him fast. The children of strength are
more powerful, more ethereal, even than we are. They can rise
higher than our parent, the sun. They have the magic words
that rule the wind and the waves, and compel them to serve and
obey; and they can, at last, cast off the heavy, oppressive
weight of mortality, and soar upwards." Thus sweetly sounded
the bell-like tones of the chorus.

    And each morning the sun's rays shone through the one
little window of the grandfather's house upon the quiet child.
The daughters of the sunbeam kissed him; they wished to thaw,
and melt, and obliterate the ice kiss which the queenly maiden
of the glaciers had given him as he lay in the lap of his dead
mother, in the deep crevasse of ice from which he had been so
wonderfully rescued.


    II. THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME

    Rudy was just eight years old, when his uncle, who lived
on the other side of the mountain, wished to have the boy, as
he thought he might obtain a better education with him, and
learn something more. His grandfather thought the same, so he
consented to let him go. Rudy had many to say farewell to, as
well as his grandfather. First, there was Ajola, the old dog.

    "Your father was the postilion, and I was the postilion's
dog," said Ajola. "We have often travelled the same journey
together; I knew all the dogs and men on this side of the
mountain. It is not my habit to talk much; but now that we
have so little time to converse together, I will say something
more than usual. I will relate to you a story, which I have
reflected upon for a long time. I do not understand it, and
very likely you will not, but that is of no consequence. I
have, however, learnt from it that in this world things are
not equally divided, neither for dogs nor for men. All are not
born to lie on the lap and to drink milk: I have never been
petted in this way, but I have seen a little dog seated in the
place of a gentleman or lady, and travelling inside a
post-chaise. The lady, who was his mistress, or of whom he was
master, carried a bottle of milk, of which the little dog now
and then drank; she also offered him pieces of sugar to
crunch. He sniffed at them proudly, but would not eat one, so
she ate them herself. I was running along the dirty road by
the side of the carriage as hungry as a dog could be, chewing
the cud of my own thoughts, which were rather in confusion.
But many other things seemed in confusion also. Why was not I
lying on a lap and travelling in a coach? I could not tell;
yet I knew I could not alter my own condition, either by
barking or growling.

    This was Ajola's farewell speech, and Rudy threw his arms
round the dog's neck and kissed his cold nose. Then he took
the cat in his arms, but he struggled to get free.

    "You are getting too strong for me," he said; "but I will
not use my claws against you. Clamber away over the mountains;
it was I who taught you to climb. Do not fancy you are going
to fall, and you will be quite safe." Then the cat jumped down
and ran away; he did not wish Rudy to see that there were
tears in his eyes.

    The hens were hopping about the floor; one of them had no
tail; a traveller, who fancied himself a sportsman, had shot
off her tail, he had mistaken her for a bird of prey.

    "Rudy is going away over the mountains," said one of the
hens.

    "He is always in such a hurry," said the other; "and I
don't like taking leave," so they both hopped out.

    But the goats said farewell; they bleated and wanted to go
with him, they were so very sorry.

    Just at this time two clever guides were going to cross
the mountains to the other side of the Gemmi, and Rudy was to
go with them on foot. It was a long walk for such a little
boy, but he had plenty of strength and invincible courage. The
swallows flew with him a little way, singing, "We and you- you
and we." The way led across the rushing Lutschine, which falls
in numerous streams from the dark clefts of the Grindelwald
glaciers. Trunks of fallen trees and blocks of stone form
bridges over these streams. After passing a forest of alders,
they began to ascend, passing by some blocks of ice that had
loosened themselves from the side of the mountain and lay
across their path; they had to step over these ice-blocks or
walk round them. Rudy crept here and ran there, his eyes
sparkling with joy, and he stepped so firmly with his
iron-tipped mountain shoe, that he left a mark behind him
wherever he placed his foot.

    The earth was black where the mountain torrents or the
melted ice had poured upon it, but the bluish green, glassy
ice sparkled and glittered. They had to go round little pools,
like lakes, enclosed between large masses of ice; and, while
thus wandering out of their path, they came near an immense
stone, which lay balanced on the edge of an icy peak. The
stone lost its balance just as they reached it, and rolled
over into the abyss beneath, while the noise of its fall was
echoed back from every hollow cliff of the glaciers.

    They were always going upwards. The glaciers seemed to
spread above them like a continued chain of masses of ice,
piled up in wild confusion between bare and rugged rocks. Rudy
thought for a moment of what had been told him, that he and
his mother had once lain buried in one of these cold,
heart-chilling fissures; but he soon banished such thoughts,
and looked upon the story as fabulous, like many other stories
which had been told him. Once or twice, when the men thought
the way was rather difficult for such a little boy, they held
out their hands to assist him; but he would not accept their
assistance, for he stood on the slippery ice as firmly as if
he had been a chamois. They came at length to rocky ground;
sometimes stepping upon moss-covered stones, sometimes passing
beneath stunted fir-trees, and again through green meadows.
The landscape was always changing, but ever above them towered
the lofty snow-clad mountains, whose names not only Rudy but
every other child knew- "The Jungfrau," "The Monk and the
Eiger."

    Rudy had never been so far away before; he had never
trodden on the wide-spreading ocean of snow that lay here with
its immovable billows, from which the wind blows off the
snowflake now and then, as it cuts the foam from the waves of
the sea. The glaciers stand here so close together it might
almost be said they are hand-in-hand; and each is a crystal
palace for the Ice Maiden, whose power and will it is to seize
and imprison the unwary traveller.

    The sun shone warmly, and the snow sparkled as if covered
with glittering diamonds. Numerous insects, especially
butterflies and bees, lay dead in heaps on the snow. They had
ventured too high, or the wind had carried them here and left
them to die of cold.

    Around the Wetterhorn hung a feathery cloud, like a
woolbag, and a threatening cloud too, for as it sunk lower it
increased in size, and concealed within was a "fohn," fearful
in its violence should it break loose. This journey, with its
varied incidents,- the wild paths, the night passed on the
mountain, the steep rocky precipices, the hollow clefts, in
which the rustling waters from time immemorial had worn away
passages for themselves through blocks of stone,- all these
were firmly impressed on Rudy's memory.

    In a forsaken stone building, which stood just beyond the
seas of snow, they one night took shelter. Here they found
some charcoal and pine branches, so that they soon made a
fire. They arranged couches to lie on as well as they could,
and then the men seated themselves by the fire, took out their
pipes, and began to smoke. They also prepared a warm, spiced
drink, of which they partook and Rudy was not forgotten- he
had his share. Then they began to talk of those mysterious
beings with which the land of the Alps abounds; the hosts of
apparitions which come in the night, and carry off the
sleepers through the air, to the wonderful floating town of
Venice; of the wild herds-man, who drives the black sheep
across the meadows. These flocks are never seen, yet the
tinkle of their little bells has often been heard, as well as
their unearthly bleating. Rudy listened eagerly, but without
fear, for he knew not what fear meant; and while he listened,
he fancied he could hear the roaring of the spectral herd. It
seemed to come nearer and roar louder, till the men heard it
also and listened in silence, till, at length, they told Rudy
that he must not dare to sleep. It was a "fohn," that violent
storm-wind which rushes from the mountain to the valley
beneath, and in its fury snaps asunder the trunks of large
trees as if they were but slender reeds, and carries the
wooden houses from one side of a river to the other as easily
as we could move the pieces on a chess-board. After an hour
had passed, they told Rudy that it was all over, and he might
go to sleep; and, fatigued with his long walk, he readily
slept at the word of command.

    Very early the following morning they again set out. The
sun on this day lighted up for Rudy new mountains, new
glaciers, and new snow-fields. They had entered the Canton
Valais, and found themselves on the ridge of the hills which
can be seen from Grindelwald; but he was still far from his
new home. They pointed out to him other clefts, other meadows,
other woods and rocky paths, and other houses. Strange men
made their appearance before him, and what men! They were
misshapen, wretched-looking creatures, with yellow
complexions; and on their necks were dark, ugly lumps of
flesh, hanging down like bags. They were called cretins. They
dragged themselves along painfully, and stared at the
strangers with vacant eyes. The women looked more dreadful
than the men. Poor Rudy! were these the sort of people he
should see at his new home?


    III. THE UNCLE

    Rudy arrived at last at his uncle's house, and was
thankful to find the people like those he had been accustomed
to see. There was only one cretin amongst them, a poor idiot
boy, one of those unfortunate beings who, in their neglected
conditions, go from house to house, and are received and taken
care of in different families, for a month or two at a time.

    Poor Saperli had just arrived at his uncle's house when
Rudy came. The uncle was an experienced hunter; he also
followed the trade of a cooper; his wife was a lively little
person, with a face like a bird, eyes like those of an eagle,
and a long, hairy throat. Everything was new to Rudy- the
fashion of the dress, the manners, the employments, and even
the language; but the latter his childish ear would soon
learn. He saw also that there was more wealth here, when
compared with his former home at his grandfather's. The rooms
were larger, the walls were adorned with the horns of the
chamois, and brightly polished guns. Over the door hung a
painting of the Virgin Mary, fresh alpine roses and a burning
lamp stood near it. Rudy's uncle was, as we have said, one of
the most noted chamois hunters in the whole district, and also
one of the best guides. Rudy soon became the pet of the house;
but there was another pet, an old hound, blind and lazy, who
would never more follow the hunt, well as he had once done so.
But his former good qualities were not forgotten, and
therefore the animal was kept in the family and treated with
every indulgence. Rudy stroked the old hound, but he did not
like strangers, and Rudy was as yet a stranger; he did not,
however, long remain so, he soon endeared himself to every
heart, and became like one of the family.

    "We are not very badly off, here in the canton Valais,"
said his uncle one day; "we have the chamois, they do not die
so fast as the wild goats, and it is certainly much better
here now than in former times. How highly the old times have
been spoken of, but ours is better. The bag has been opened,
and a current of air now blows through our once confined
valley. Something better always makes its appearance when old,
worn-out things fail."

    When his uncle became communicative, he would relate
stories of his youthful days, and farther back still of the
warlike times in which his father had lived. Valais was then,
as he expressed it, only a closed-up bag, quite full of sick
people, miserable cretins; but the French soldiers came, and
they were capital doctors, they soon killed the disease and
the sick people, too. The French people knew how to fight in
more ways than one, and the girls knew how to conquer too; and
when he said this the uncle nodded at his wife, who was a
French woman by birth, and laughed. The French could also do
battle on the stones. "It was they who cut a road out of the
solid rock over the Simplon- such a road, that I need only say
to a child of three years old, 'Go down to Italy, you have
only to keep in the high road,' and the child will soon arrive
in Italy, if he followed my directions."

    Then the uncle sang a French song, and cried, "Hurrah!
long live Napoleon Buonaparte." This was the first time Rudy
had ever heard of France, or of Lyons, that great city on the
Rhone where his uncle had once lived. His uncle said that
Rudy, in a very few years, would become a clever hunter, he
had quite a talent for it; he taught the boy to hold a gun
properly, and to load and fire it. In the hunting season he
took him to the hills, and made him drink the warm blood of
the chamois, which is said to prevent the hunter from becoming
giddy; he taught him to know the time when, from the different
mountains, the avalanche is likely to fall, namely, at
noontide or in the evening, from the effects of the sun's
rays; he made him observe the movements of the chamois when he
gave a leap, so that he might fall firmly and lightly on his
feet. He told him that when on the fissures of the rocks he
could find no place for his feet, he must support himself on
his elbows, and cling with his legs, and even lean firmly with
his back, for this could be done when necessary. He told him
also that the chamois are very cunning, they place lookers-out
on the watch; but the hunter must be more cunning than they
are, and find them out by the scent.

    One day, when Rudy went out hunting with his uncle, he
hung a coat and hat on an alpine staff, and the chamois
mistook it for a man, as they generally do. The mountain path
was narrow here; indeed it was scarcely a path at all, only a
kind of shelf, close to the yawning abyss. The snow that lay
upon it was partially thawed, and the stones crumbled beneath
the feet. Every fragment of stone broken off struck the sides
of the rock in its fall, till it rolled into the depths
beneath, and sunk to rest. Upon this shelf Rudy's uncle laid
himself down, and crept forward. At about a hundred paces
behind him stood Rudy, upon the highest point of the rock,
watching a great vulture hovering in the air; with a single
stroke of his wing the bird might easily cast the creeping
hunter into the abyss beneath, and make him his prey. Rudy's
uncle had eyes for nothing but the chamois, who, with its
young kid, had just appeared round the edge of the rock. So
Rudy kept his eyes fixed on the bird, he knew well what the
great creature wanted; therefore he stood in readiness to
discharge his gun at the proper moment. Suddenly the chamois
made a spring, and his uncle fired and struck the animal with
the deadly bullet; while the young kid rushed away, as if for
a long life he had been accustomed to danger and practised
flight. The large bird, alarmed at the report of the gun,
wheeled off in another direction, and Rudy's uncle was saved
from danger, of which he knew nothing till he was told of it
by the boy.

    While they were both in pleasant mood, wending their way
homewards, and the uncle whistling the tune of a song he had
learnt in his young days, they suddenly heard a peculiar sound
which seemed to come from the top of the mountain. They looked
up, and saw above them, on the over-hanging rock, the
snow-covering heave and lift itself as a piece of linen
stretched on the ground to dry raises itself when the wind
creeps under it. Smooth as polished marble slabs, the waves of
snow cracked and loosened themselves, and then suddenly, with
the rumbling noise of distant thunder, fell like a foaming
cataract into the abyss. An avalanche had fallen, not upon
Rudy and his uncle, but very near them. Alas, a great deal too
near!

    "Hold fast, Rudy!" cried his uncle; "hold fast, with all
your might."

    Then Rudy clung with his arms to the trunk of the nearest
tree, while his uncle climbed above him, and held fast by the
branches. The avalanche rolled past them at some distance; but
the gust of wind that followed, like the storm-wings of the
avalanche, snapped asunder the trees and bushes over which it
swept, as if they had been but dry rushes, and threw them
about in every direction. The tree to which Rudy clung was
thus overthrown, and Rudy dashed to the ground. The higher
branches were snapped off, and carried away to a great
distance; and among these shattered branches lay Rudy's uncle,
with his skull fractured. When they found him, his hand was
still warm; but it would have been impossible to recognize his
face. Rudy stood by, pale and trembling; it was the first
shock of his life, the first time he had ever felt fear. Late
in the evening he returned home with the fatal news,- to that
home which was now to be so full of sorrow. His uncle's wife
uttered not a word, nor shed a tear, till the corpse was
brought in; then her agony burst forth. The poor cretin crept
away to his bed, and nothing was seen of him during the whole
of the following day. Towards evening, however, he came to
Rudy, and said, "Will you write a letter for me? Saperli
cannot write; Saperli can only take the letters to the post."

    "A letter for you!" said Rudy; "who do you wish to write
to?"

    "To the Lord Christ," he replied.

    "What do you mean?" asked Rudy.

    Then the poor idiot, as the cretin was often called,
looked at Rudy with a most touching expression in his eyes,
clasped his hands, and said, solemnly and devoutly, "Saperli
wants to send a letter to Jesus Christ, to pray Him to let
Saperli die, and not the master of the house here."

    Rudy pressed his hand, and replied, "A letter would not
reach Him up above; it would not give him back whom we have
lost."

    It was not, however, easy for Rudy to convince Saperli of
the impossibility of doing what he wished.

    "Now you must work for us," said his foster-mother; and
Rudy very soon became the entire support of the house. BABETTE


    IV. BABETTE

    Who was the best marksman in the canton Valais? The
chamois knew well. "Save yourselves from Rudy," they might
well say. And who is the handsomest marksman? "Oh, it is
Rudy," said the maidens; but they did not say, "Save
yourselves from Rudy." Neither did anxious mothers say so; for
he bowed to them as pleasantly as to the young girls. He was
so brave and cheerful. His cheeks were brown, his teeth white,
and his eyes dark and sparkling. He was now a handsome young
man of twenty years. The most icy water could not deter him
from swimming; he could twist and turn like a fish. None could
climb like he, and he clung as firmly to the edges of the
rocks as a limpet. He had strong muscular power, as could be
seen when he leapt from rock to rock. He had learnt this first
from the cat, and more lately from the chamois. Rudy was
considered the best guide over the mountains; every one had
great confidence in him. He might have made a great deal of
money as guide. His uncle had also taught him the trade of a
cooper; but he had no inclination for either; his delight was
in chamois-hunting, which also brought him plenty of money.
Rudy would be a very good match, as people said, if he would
not look above his own station. He was also such a famous
partner in dancing, that the girls often dreamt about him, and
one and another thought of him even when awake.

    "He kissed me in the dance," said Annette, the
schoolmaster's daughter, to her dearest friend; but she ought
not to have told this, even to her dearest friend. It is not
easy to keep such secrets; they are like sand in a sieve; they
slip out. It was therefore soon known that Rudy, so brave and
so good as he was, had kissed some one while dancing, and yet
he had never kissed her who was dearest to him.

    "Ah, ah," said an old hunter, "he has kissed Annette, has
he? he has begun with A, and I suppose he will kiss through
the whole alphabet."

    But a kiss in the dance was all the busy tongues could
accuse him of. He certainly had kissed Annette, but she was
not the flower of his heart.

    Down in the valley, near Bex, among the great
walnut-trees, by the side of a little rushing mountain-stream,
lived a rich miller. His dwelling-house was a large building,
three storeys high, with little turrets. The roof was covered
with chips, bound together with tin plates, that glittered in
sunshine and in the moonlight. The largest of the turrets had
a weather-cock, representing an apple pierced by a glittering
arrow, in memory of William Tell. The mill was a neat and
well-ordered place, that allowed itself to be sketched and
written about; but the miller's daughter did not permit any to
sketch or write about her. So, at least, Rudy would have said,
for her image was pictured in his heart; her eyes shone in it
so brightly, that quite a flame had been kindled there; and,
like all other fires, it had burst forth so suddenly, that the
miller's daughter, the beautiful Babette, was quite unaware of
it. Rudy had never spoken a word to her on the subject. The
miller was rich, and, on that account, Babette stood very
high, and was rather difficult to aspire to. But said Rudy to
himself, "Nothing is too high for a man to reach: he must
climb with confidence in himself, and he will not fail." He
had learnt this lesson in his youthful home.

    It happened once that Rudy had some business to settle at
Bex. It was a long journey at that time, for the railway had
not been opened. From the glaciers of the Rhone, at the foot
of the Simplon, between its ever-changing mountain summits,
stretches the valley of the canton Valais. Through it runs the
noble river of the Rhone, which often overflows its banks,
covering fields and highways, and destroying everything in its
course. Near the towns of Sion and St. Maurice, the valley
takes a turn, and bends like an elbow, and behind St. Maurice
becomes so narrow that there is only space enough for the bed
of the river and a narrow carriage-road. An old tower stands
here, as if it were guardian to the canton Valais, which ends
at this point; and from it we can look across the stone bridge
to the toll-house on the other side, where the canton Vaud
commences. Not far from this spot stands the town of Bex, and
at every step can be seen an increase of fruitfulness and
verdure. It is like entering a grove of chestnut and
walnut-trees. Here and there the cypress and pomegranate
blossoms peep forth; and it is almost as warm as an Italian
climate. Rudy arrived at Bex, and soon finished the business
which had brought him there, and then walked about the town;
but not even the miller's boy could be seen, nor any one
belonging to the mill, not to mention Babette. This did not
please him at all. Evening came on. The air was filled with
the perfume of the wild thyme and the blossoms of the
lime-trees, and the green woods on the mountains seemed to be
covered with a shining veil, blue as the sky. Over everything
reigned a stillness, not of sleep or of death, but as if
Nature were holding her breath, that her image might be
photographed on the blue vault of heaven. Here and there,
amidst the trees of the silent valley, stood poles which
supported the wires of the electric telegraph. Against one of
these poles leaned an object so motionless that it might have
been mistaken for the trunk of a tree; but it was Rudy,
standing there as still as at that moment was everything
around him. He was not asleep, neither was he dead; but just
as the various events in the world- matters of momentous
importance to individuals- were flying through the telegraph
wires, without the quiver of a wire or the slightest tone, so,
through the mind of Rudy, thoughts of overwhelming importance
were passing, without an outward sign of emotion. The
happiness of his future life depended upon the decision of his
present reflections. His eyes were fixed on one spot in the
distance- a light that twinkled through the foliage from the
parlor of the miller's house, where Babette dwelt. Rudy stood
so still, that it might have been supposed he was watching for
a chamois; but he was in reality like a chamois, who will
stand for a moment, looking as if it were chiselled out of the
rock, and then, if only a stone rolled by, would suddenly
bound forward with a spring, far away from the hunter. And so
with Rudy: a sudden roll of his thoughts roused him from his
stillness, and made him bound forward with determination to
act.

    "Never despair!" cried he. "A visit to the mill, to say
good evening to the miller, and good evening to little
Babette, can do no harm. No one ever fails who has confidence
in himself. If I am to be Babette's husband, I must see her
some time or other."

    Then Rudy laughed joyously, and took courage to go to the
mill. He knew what he wanted; he wanted to marry Babette. The
clear water of the river rolled over its yellow bed, and
willows and lime-trees were reflected in it, as Rudy stepped
along the path to the miller's house. But, as the children
sing-


              "There was no one at home in the house,

               Only a kitten at play."


    The cat standing on the steps put up its back and cried
"mew." But Rudy had no inclination for this sort of
conversation; he passed on, and knocked at the door. No one
heard him, no one opened the door. "Mew," said the cat again;
and had Rudy been still a child, he would have understood this
language, and known that the cat wished to tell him there was
no one at home. So he was obliged to go to the mill and make
inquiries, and there he heard that the miller had gone on a
journey to Interlachen, and taken Babette with him, to the
great shooting festival, which began that morning, and would
continue for eight days, and that people from all the German
settlements would be there.

    Poor Rudy! we may well say. It was not a fortunate day for
his visit to Bex. He had just to return the way he came,
through St. Maurice and Sion, to his home in the valley. But
he did not despair. When the sun rose the next morning, his
good spirits had returned; indeed he had never really lost
them. "Babette is at Interlachen," said Rudy to himself, "many
days' journey from here. It is certainly a long way for any
one who takes the high-road, but not so far if he takes a
short cut across the mountain, and that just suits a
chamois-hunter. I have been that way before, for it leads to
the home of my childhood, where, as a little boy, I lived with
my grandfather. And there are shooting matches at Interlachen.
I will go, and try to stand first in the match. Babette will
be there, and I shall be able to make her acquaintance."

    Carrying his light knapsack, which contained his Sunday
clothes, on his back, and with his musket and his game-bag
over his shoulder, Rudy started to take the shortest way
across the mountain. Still it was a great distance. The
shooting matches were to commence on that day, and to continue
for a whole week. He had been told also that the miller and
Babette would remain that time with some relatives at
Interlachen. So over the Gemmi Rudy climbed bravely, and
determined to descend the side of the Grindelwald. Bright and
joyous were his feelings as he stepped lightly onwards,
inhaling the invigorating mountain air. The valley sunk as he
ascended, the circle of the horizon expanded. One snow-capped
peak after another rose before him, till the whole of the
glittering Alpine range became visible. Rudy knew each
ice-clad peak, and he continued his course towards the
Schreckhorn, with its white powdered stone finger raised high
in the air. At length he had crossed the highest ridges, and
before him lay the green pasture lands sloping down towards
the valley, which was once his home. The buoyancy of the air
made his heart light. Hill and valley were blooming in
luxuriant beauty, and his thoughts were youthful dreams, in
which old age or death were out of the question. Life, power,
and enjoyment were in the future, and he felt free and light
as a bird. And the swallows flew round him, as in the days of
his childhood, singing "We and you- you and we." All was
overflowing with joy. Beneath him lay the meadows, covered
with velvety green, with the murmuring river flowing through
them, and dotted here and there were small wooden houses. He
could see the edges of the glaciers, looking like green glass
against the soiled snow, and the deep chasms beneath the
loftiest glacier. The church bells were ringing, as if to
welcome him to his home with their sweet tones. His heart beat
quickly, and for a moment he seemed to have foregotten
Babette, so full were his thoughts of old recollections. He
was, in imagination, once more wandering on the road where,
when a little boy, he, with other children, came to sell their
curiously carved toy houses. Yonder, behind the fir-trees,
still stood his grandfather's house, his mother's father, but
strangers dwelt in it now. Children came running to him, as he
had once done, and wished to sell their wares. One of them
offered him an Alpine rose. Rudy took the rose as a good omen,
and thought of Babette. He quickly crossed the bridge where
the two rivers flow into each other. Here he found a walk
over-shadowed with large walnut-trees, and their thick foliage
formed a pleasant shade. Very soon he perceived in the
distance, waving flags, on which glittered a white cross on a
red ground- the standard of the Danes as well as of the Swiss-
and before him lay Interlachen.

    "It is really a splendid town, like none other that I have
ever seen," said Rudy to himself. It was indeed a Swiss town
in its holiday dress. Not like the many other towns, crowded
with heavy stone houses, stiff and foreign looking. No; here
it seemed as if the wooden houses on the hills had run into
the valley, and placed themselves in rows and ranks by the
side of the clear river, which rushes like an arrow in its
course. The streets were rather irregular, it is true, but
still this added to their picturesque appearance. There was
one street which Rudy thought the prettiest of them all; it
had been built since he had visited the town when a little
boy. It seemed to him as if all the neatest and most curiously
carved toy houses which his grandfather once kept in the large
cupboard at home, had been brought out and placed in this
spot, and that they had increased in size since then, as the
old chestnut trees had done. The houses were called hotels;
the woodwork on the windows and balconies was curiously
carved. The roofs were gayly painted, and before each house
was a flower garden, which separated it from the macadamized
high-road. These houses all stood on the same side of the
road, so that the fresh, green meadows, in which were cows
grazing, with bells on their necks, were not hidden. The sound
of these bells is often heard amidst Alpine scenery. These
meadows were encircled by lofty hills, which receded a little
in the centre, so that the most beautifully formed of Swiss
mountains- the snow-crowned Jungfrau- could be distinctly seen
glittering in the distance. A number of elegantly dressed
gentlemen and ladies from foreign lands, and crowds of country
people from the neighboring cantons, were assembled in the
town. Each marksman wore the number of hits he had made
twisted in a garland round his hat. Here were music and
singing of all descriptions: hand-organs, trumpets, shouting,
and noise. The houses and bridges were adorned with verses and
inscriptions. Flags and banners were waving. Shot after shot
was fired, which was the best music to Rudy's ears. And amidst
all this excitement he quite forgot Babette, on whose account
only he had come. The shooters were thronging round the
target, and Rudy was soon amongst them. But when he took his
turn to fire, he proved himself the best shot, for he always
struck the bull's-eye.

    "Who may that young stranger be?" was the inquiry on all
sides. "He speaks French as it is spoken in the Swiss
cantons."

    "And makes himself understood very well when he speaks
German," said some.

    "He lived here, when a child, with his grandfather, in a
house on the road to Grindelwald," remarked one of the
sportsmen.

    And full of life was this young stranger; his eyes
sparkled, his glance was steady, and his arm sure, therefore
he always hit the mark. Good fortune gives courage, and Rudy
was always courageous. He soon had a circle of friends
gathered round him. Every one noticed him, and did him homage.
Babette had quite vanished from his thoughts, when he was
struck on the shoulder by a heavy hand, and a deep voice said
to him in French, "You are from the canton Valais."

    Rudy turned round, and beheld a man with a ruddy, pleasant
face, and a stout figure. It was the rich miller from Bex. His
broad, portly person, hid the slender, lovely Babette; but she
came forward and glanced at him with her bright, dark eyes.
The rich miller was very much flattered at the thought that
the young man, who was acknowledged to be the best shot, and
was so praised by every one, should be from his own canton.
Now was Rudy really fortunate: he had travelled all this way
to this place, and those he had forgotten were now come to
seek him. When country people go far from home, they often
meet with those they know, and improve their acquaintance.
Rudy, by his shooting, had gained the first place in the
shooting-match, just as the miller at home at Bex stood first,
because of his money and his mill. So the two men shook hands,
which they had never done before. Babette, too, held out her
hand to Rudy frankly, and he pressed it in his, and looked at
her so earnestly, that she blushed deeply. The miller talked
of the long journey they had travelled, and of the many towns
they had seen. It was his opinion that he had really made as
great a journey as if he had travelled in a steamship, a
railway carriage, or a post-chaise.

    "I came by a much shorter way," said Rudy; "I came over
the mountains. There is no road so high that a man may not
venture upon it."

    "Ah, yes; and break your neck," said the miller; "and you
look like one who will break his neck some day, you are so
daring."

    "Oh, nothing ever happens to a man if he has confidence in
himself," replied Rudy.

    The miller's relations at Interlachen, with whom the
miller and Babette were staying, invited Rudy to visit them,
when they found he came from the same canton as the miller. It
was a most pleasant visit. Good fortune seemed to follow him,
as it does those who think and act for themselves, and who
remember the proverb, "Nuts are given to us, but they are not
cracked for us." And Rudy was treated by the miller's
relations almost like one of the family, and glasses of wine
were poured out to drink to the welfare of the best shooter.
Babette clinked glasses with Rudy, and he returned thanks for
the toast. In the evening they all took a delightful walk
under the walnut-trees, in front of the stately hotels; there
were so many people, and such crowding, that Rudy was obliged
to offer his arm to Babette. Then he told her how happy it
made him to meet people from the canton Vaud,- for Vaud and
Valais were neighboring cantons. He spoke of this pleasure so
heartily that Babette could not resist giving his arm a slight
squeeze; and so they walked on together, and talked and
chatted like old acquaintances. Rudy felt inclined to laugh
sometimes at the absurd dress and walk of the foreign ladies;
but Babette did not wish to make fun of them, for she knew
there must be some good, excellent people amongst them; she,
herself, had a godmother, who was a high-born English lady.
Eighteen years before, when Babette was christened, this lady
was staying at Bex, and she stood godmother for her, and gave
her the valuable brooch she now wore in her bosom.

    Her godmother had twice written to her, and this year she
was expected to visit Interlachen with her two daughters; "but
they are old-maids," added Babette, who was only eighteen:
"they are nearly thirty." Her sweet little mouth was never
still a moment, and all that she said sounded in Rudy's ears
as matters of the greatest importance, and at last he told her
what he was longing to tell. How often he had been at Bex, how
well he knew the mill, and how often he had seen Babette, when
most likely she had not noticed him; and lastly, that full of
many thoughts which he could not tell her, he had been to the
mill on the evening when she and her father has started on
their long journey, but not too far for him to find a way to
overtake them. He told her all this, and a great deal more; he
told her how much he could endure for her; and that it was to
see her, and not the shooting-match, which had brought him to
Interlachen. Babette became quite silent after hearing all
this; it was almost too much, and it troubled her.

    And while they thus wandered on, the sun sunk behind the
lofty mountains. The Jungfrau stood out in brightness and
splendor, as a back-ground to the green woods of the
surrounding hills. Every one stood still to look at the
beautiful sight, Rudy and Babette among them.

    "Nothing can be more beautiful than this," said Babette.

    "Nothing!" replied Rudy, looking at Babette.

    "To-morrow I must return home," remarked Rudy a few
minutes afterwards.

    "Come and visit us at Bex," whispered Babette; "my father
will be pleased to see you."


    V. ON THE WAY HOME

    Oh, what a number of things Rudy had to carry over the
mountains, when he set out to return home! He had three silver
cups, two handsome pistols, and a silver coffee-pot. This
latter would be useful when he began housekeeping. But all
these were not the heaviest weight he had to bear; something
mightier and more important he carried with him in his heart,
over the high mountains, as he journeyed homeward.

    The weather was dismally dark, and inclined to rain; the
clouds hung low, like a mourning veil on the tops of the
mountains, and shrouded their glittering peaks. In the woods
could be heard the sound of the axe and the heavy fall of the
trunks of the trees, as they rolled down the slopes of the
mountains. When seen from the heights, the trunks of these
trees looked like slender stems; but on a nearer inspection
they were found to be large and strong enough for the masts of
a ship. The river murmured monotonously, the wind whistled,
and the clouds sailed along hurriedly.

    Suddenly there appeared, close by Rudy's side, a young
maiden; he had not noticed her till she came quite near to
him. She was also going to ascend the mountain. The maiden's
eyes shone with an unearthly power, which obliged you to look
into them; they were strange eyes,- clear, deep, and
unfathomable.

    "Hast thou a lover?" asked Rudy; all his thoughts were
naturally on love just then.

    "I have none," answered the maiden, with a laugh; it was
as if she had not spoken the truth.

    "Do not let us go such a long way round," said she. "We
must keep to the left; it is much shorter."

    "Ah, yes," he replied; "and fall into some crevasse. Do
you pretend to be a guide, and not know the road better than
that?"

    "I know every step of the way," said she; "and my thoughts
are collected, while yours are down in the valley yonder. We
should think of the Ice Maiden while we are up here; men say
she is not kind to their race."

    "I fear her not," said Rudy. "She could not keep me when I
was a child; I will not give myself up to her now I am a man."

    Darkness came on, the rain fell, and then it began to
snow, and the whiteness dazzled the eyes.

    "Give me your hand," said the maiden; "I will help you to
mount." And he felt the touch of her icy fingers.

    "You help me," cried Rudy; "I do not yet require a woman
to help me to climb." And he stepped quickly forwards away
from her.

    The drifting snow-shower fell like a veil between them,
the wind whistled, and behind him he could hear the maiden
laughing and singing, and the sound was most strange to hear.

    "It certainly must be a spectre or a servant of the Ice
Maiden," thought Rudy, who had heard such things talked about
when he was a little boy, and had stayed all night on the
mountain with the guides.

    The snow fell thicker than ever, the clouds lay beneath
him; he looked back, there was no one to be seen, but he heard
sounds of mocking laughter, which were not those of a human
voice.

    When Rudy at length reached the highest part of the
mountain, where the path led down to the valley of the Rhone,
the snow had ceased, and in the clear heavens he saw two
bright stars twinkling. They reminded him of Babette and of
himself, and of his future happiness, and his heart glowed at
the thought.


    VI. THE VISIT TO THE MILL

    "What beautiful things you have brought home!" said his
old foster-mother; and her strange-looking eagle-eyes
sparkled, while she wriggled and twisted her skinny neck more
quickly and strangely than ever. "You have brought good luck
with you, Rudy. I must give you a kiss, my dear boy."

    Rudy allowed himself to be kissed; but it could be seen by
his countenance that he only endured the infliction as a
homely duty.

    "How handsome you are, Rudy!" said the old woman.

    "Don't flatter," said Rudy, with a laugh; but still he was
pleased.

    "I must say once more," said the old woman, "that you are
very lucky."

    "Well, in that I believe you are right," said he, as he
thought of Babette. Never had he felt such a longing for that
deep valley as he now had. "They must have returned home by
this time," said he to himself, "it is already two days over
the time which they fixed upon. I must go to Bex."

    So Rudy set out to go to Bex; and when he arrived there,
he found the miller and his daughter at home. They received
him kindly, and brought him many greetings from their friends
at Interlachen. Babette did not say much. She seemed to have
become quite silent; but her eyes spoke, and that was quite
enough for Rudy. The miller had generally a great deal to talk
about, and seemed to expect that every one should listen to
his jokes, and laugh at them; for was not he the rich miller?
But now he was more inclined to hear Rudy's adventures while
hunting and travelling, and to listen to his descriptions of
the difficulties the chamois-hunter has to overcome on the
mountain-tops, or of the dangerous snow-drifts which the wind
and weather cause to cling to the edges of the rocks, or to
lie in the form of a frail bridge over the abyss beneath. The
eyes of the brave Rudy sparkled as he described the life of a
hunter, or spoke of the cunning of the chamois and their
wonderful leaps; also of the powerful fohn and the rolling
avalanche. He noticed that the more he described, the more
interested the miller became, especially when he spoke of the
fierce vulture and of the royal eagle. Not far from Bex, in
the canton Valais, was an eagle's nest, more curiously built
under a high, over-hanging rock. In this nest was a young
eagle; but who would venture to take it? A young Englishman
had offered Rudy a whole handful of gold, if he would bring
him the young eagle alive.

    "There is a limit to everything," was Rudy's reply. "The
eagle could not be taken; it would be folly to attempt it."

    The wine was passed round freely, and the conversation
kept up pleasantly; but the evening seemed too short for Rudy,
although it was midnight when he left the miller's house,
after this his first visit.

    While the lights in the windows of the miller's house
still twinkled through the green foliage, out through the open
skylight came the parlor-cat on to the roof, and along the
water-pipe walked the kitchen-cat to meet her.

    "What is the news at the mill?" asked the parlor-cat.
"Here in the house there is secret love-making going on, which
the father knows nothing about. Rudy and Babette have been
treading on each other's paws, under the table, all the
evening. They trod on my tail twice, but I did not mew; that
would have attracted notice."

    "Well, I should have mewed," said the kitchen-cat.

    "What might suit the kitchen would not suit the parlor,"
said the other. "I am quite curious to know what the miller
will say when he finds out this engagement."

    Yes, indeed; what would the miller say? Rudy himself was
anxious to know that; but to wait till the miller heard of it
from others was out of the question. Therefore, not many days
after this visit, he was riding in the omnibus that runs
between the two cantons, Valais and Vaud. These cantons are
separated by the Rhone, over which is a bridge that unites
them. Rudy, as usual, had plenty of courage, and indulged in
pleasant thoughts of the favorable answer he should receive
that evening. And when the omnibus returned, Rudy was again
seated in it, going homewards; and at the same time the
parlor-cat at the miller's house ran out quickly, crying,-

    "Here, you from the kitchen, what do you think? The miller
knows all now. Everything has come to a delightful end. Rudy
came here this evening, and he and Babette had much whispering
and secret conversation together. They stood in the path near
the miller's room. I lay at their feet; but they had no eyes
or thoughts for me.

    "'I will go to your father at once,' said he; 'it is the
most honorable way.'

    "'Shall I go with you?' asked Babette; 'it will give you
courage.'

    "'I have plenty of courage,' said Rudy; 'but if you are
with me, he must be friendly, whether he says Yes or No.'

    "So they turned to go in, and Rudy trod heavily on my
tail; he certainly is very clumsy. I mewed; but neither he nor
Babette had any ears for me. They opened the door, and entered
together. I was before them, and jumped on the back of a
chair. I hardly know what Rudy said; but the miller flew into
a rage, and threatened to kick him out of the house. He told
him he might go to the mountains, and look after the chamois,
but not after our little Babette."

    "And what did they say? Did they speak?" asked the
kitchen-cat.

    "What did they say! why, all that people generally do say
when they go a-wooing- 'I love her, and she loves me; and when
there is milk in the can for one, there is milk in the can for
two.'

    "'But she is so far above you,' said the miller; 'she has
heaps of gold, as you know. You should not attempt to reach
her.'

    "'There is nothing so high that a man cannot reach, if he
will,' answered Rudy; for he is a brave youth.

    "'Yet you could not reach the young eagle,' said the
miller, laughing. 'Babette is higher than the eagle's nest.'

    "'I will have them both,' said Rudy.

    "'Very well; I will give her to you when you bring me the
young eaglet alive,' said the miller; and he laughed till the
tears stood in his eyes. 'But now I thank you for this visit,
Rudy; and if you come to-morrow, you will find nobody at home.
Good-bye, Rudy.'

    "Babette also wished him farewell; but her voice sounded
as mournful as the mew of a little kitten that has lost its
mother.

    "'A promise is a promise between man and man,' said Rudy.
'Do not weep, Babette; I shall bring the young eagle.'

    "'You will break your neck, I hope,' said the miller, 'and
we shall be relieved from your company.'

    "I call that kicking him out of the house," said the
parlor-cat. "And now Rudy is gone, and Babette sits and weeps,
while the miller sings German songs that he learnt on his
journey; but I do not trouble myself on the matter,- it would
be of no use."

    "Yet, for all that, it is a very strange affair," said the
kitchen-cat.


    VII. THE EAGLE'S NEST

    From the mountain-path came a joyous sound of some person
whistling, and it betokened good humor and undaunted courage.
It was Rudy, going to meet his friend Vesinaud. "You must come
and help," said he. "I want to carry off the young eaglet from
the top of the rock. We will take young Ragli with us."

    "Had you not better first try to take down the moon? That
would be quite as easy a task," said Vesinaud. "You seem to be
in good spirits."

    "Yes, indeed I am. I am thinking of my wedding. But to be
serious, I will tell you all about it, and how I am situated."

    Then he explained to Vesinaud and Ragli what he wished to
do, and why.

    "You are a daring fellow," said they; "but it is no use;
you will break your neck."

    "No one falls, unless he is afraid," said Rudy.

    So at midnight they set out, carrying with them poles,
ladders, and ropes. The road lay amidst brushwood and
underwood, over rolling stones, always upwards higher and
higher in the dark night. Waters roared beneath them, or fell
in cascades from above. Humid clouds were driving through the
air as the hunters reached the precipitous ledge of the rock.
It was even darker here, for the sides of the rocks almost
met, and the light penetrated only through a small opening at
the top. At a little distance from the edge could be heard the
sound of the roaring, foaming waters in the yawning abyss
beneath them. The three seated themselves on a stone, to await
in stillness the dawn of day, when the parent eagle would fly
out, as it would be necessary to shoot the old bird before
they could think of gaining possession of the young one. Rudy
sat motionless, as if he had been part of the stone on which
he sat. He held his gun ready to fire, with his eyes fixed
steadily on the highest point of the cliff, where the eagle's
nest lay concealed beneath the overhanging rock.

    The three hunters had a long time to wait. At last they
heard a rustling, whirring sound above them, and a large
hovering object darkened the air. Two guns were ready to aim
at the dark body of the eagle as it rose from the nest. Then a
shot was fired; for an instant the bird fluttered its
wide-spreading wings, and seemed as if it would fill up the
whole of the chasm, and drag down the hunters in its fall. But
it was not so; the eagle sunk gradually into the abyss
beneath, and the branches of trees and bushes were broken by
its weight. Then the hunters roused themselves: three of the
longest ladders were brought and bound together; the topmost
ring of these ladders would just reach the edge of the rock
which hung over the abyss, but no farther. The point beneath
which the eagle's nest lay sheltered was much higher, and the
sides of the rock were as smooth as a wall. After consulting
together, they determined to bind together two more ladders,
and to hoist them over the cavity, and so form a communication
with the three beneath them, by binding the upper ones to the
lower. With great difficulty they contrived to drag the two
ladders over the rock, and there they hung for some moments,
swaying over the abyss; but no sooner had they fastened them
together, than Rudy placed his foot on the lowest step.

    It was a bitterly cold morning; clouds of mist were rising
from beneath, and Rudy stood on the lower step of the ladder
as a fly rests on a piece of swinging straw, which a bird may
have dropped from the edge of the nest it was building on some
tall factory chimney; but the fly could fly away if the straw
were shaken, Rudy could only break his neck. The wind whistled
around him, and beneath him the waters of the abyss, swelled
by the thawing of the glaciers, those palaces of the Ice
Maiden, foamed and roared in their rapid course. When Rudy
began to ascend, the ladder trembled like the web of the
spider, when it draws out the long, delicate threads; but as
soon as he reached the fourth of the ladders, which had been
bound together, he felt more confidence,- he knew that they
had been fastened securely by skilful hands. The fifth ladder,
that appeared to reach the nest, was supported by the sides of
the rock, yet it swung to and fro, and flapped about like a
slender reed, and as if it had been bound by fishing lines. It
seemed a most dangerous undertaking to ascend it, but Rudy
knew how to climb; he had learnt that from the cat, and he had
no fear. He did not observe Vertigo, who stood in the air
behind him, trying to lay hold of him with his outstretched
polypous arms.

    When at length he stood on the topmost step of the ladder,
he found that he was still some distance below the nest, and
not even able to see into it. Only by using his hands and
climbing could he possibly reach it. He tried the strength of
the stunted trees, and the thick underwood upon which the nest
rested, and of which it was formed, and finding they would
support his weight, he grasped them firmly, and swung himself
up from the ladder till his head and breast were above the
nest, and then what an overpowering stench came from it, for
in it lay the putrid remains of lambs, chamois, and birds.
Vertigo, although he could not reach him, blew the poisonous
vapor in his face, to make him giddy and faint; and beneath,
in the dark, yawning deep, on the rushing waters, sat the Ice
Maiden, with her long, pale, green hair falling around her,
and her death-like eyes fixed upon him, like the two barrels
of a gun. "I have thee now," she cried.

    In a corner of the eagle's nest sat the young eaglet, a
large and powerful bird, though still unable to fly. Rudy
fixed his eyes upon it, held on by one hand with all his
strength, and with the other threw a noose round the young
eagle. The string slipped to its legs. Rudy tightened it, and
thus secured the bird alive. Then flinging the sling over his
shoulder, so that the creature hung a good way down behind
him, he prepared to descend with the help of a rope, and his
foot soon touched safely the highest step of the ladder. Then
Rudy, remembering his early lesson in climbing, "Hold fast,
and do not fear," descended carefully down the ladders, and at
last stood safely on the ground with the young living eaglet,
where he was received with loud shouts of joy and
congratulations.


    VIII. WHAT FRESH NEWS THE PARLOR-CAT HAD TO TELL

    "There is what you asked for," said Rudy, as he entered
the miller's house at Bex, and placed on the floor a large
basket. He removed the lid as he spoke, and a pair of yellow
eyes, encircled by a black ring, stared forth with a wild,
fiery glance, that seemed ready to burn and destroy all that
came in its way. Its short, strong beak was open, ready to
bite, and on its red throat were short feathers, like stubble.

    "The young eaglet!" cried the miller.

    Babette screamed, and started back, while her eyes
wandered from Rudy to the bird in astonishment.

    "You are not to be discouraged by difficulties, I see,"
said the miller.

    "And you will keep your word," replied Rudy. "Each has his
own characteristic, whether it is honor or courage."

    "But how is it you did not break your neck?" asked the
miller.

    "Because I held fast," answered Rudy; "and I mean to hold
fast to Babette."

    "You must get her first," said the miller, laughing; and
Babette thought this a very good sign.

    "We must take the bird out of the basket," said she. "It
is getting into a rage; how its eyes glare. How did you manage
to conquer it?"

    Then Rudy had to describe his adventure, and the miller's
eyes opened wide as he listened.

    "With your courage and your good fortune you might win
three wives," said the miller.

    "Oh, thank you," cried Rudy.

    "But you have not won Babette yet," said the miller,
slapping the young Alpine hunter on the shoulder playfully.

    "Have you heard the fresh news at the mill?" asked the
parlor-cat of the kitchen-cat. "Rudy has brought us the young
eagle, and he is to take Babette in exchange. They kissed each
other in the presence of the old man, which is as good as an
engagement. He was quite civil about it; drew in his claws,
and took his afternoon nap, so that the two were left to sit
and wag their tails as much as they pleased. They have so much
to talk about that it will not be finished till Christmas."
Neither was it finished till Christmas.

    The wind whirled the faded, fallen leaves; the snow
drifted in the valleys, as well as upon the mountains, and the
Ice Maiden sat in the stately palace which, in winter time,
she generally occupied. The perpendicular rocks were covered
with slippery ice, and where in summer the stream from the
rocks had left a watery veil, icicles large and heavy hung
from the trees, while the snow-powdered fir-trees were
decorated with fantastic garlands of crystal. The Ice Maiden
rode on the howling wind across the deep valleys, the country,
as far as Bex, was covered with a carpet of snow, so that the
Ice Maiden could follow Rudy, and see him, when he visited the
mill; and while in the room at the miller's house, where he
was accustomed to spend so much of his time with Babette. The
wedding was to take place in the following summer, and they
heard enough of it, for so many of their friends spoke of the
matter.

    Then came sunshine to the mill. The beautiful Alpine roses
bloomed, and joyous, laughing Babette, was like the early
spring, which makes all the birds sing of summer time and
bridal days.

    "How those two do sit and chatter together," said the
parlor-cat; "I have had enough of their mewing."


    IX. THE ICE MAIDEN

    The walnut and chestnut trees, which extend from the
bridge of St. Maurice, by the river Rhone, to the shores of
the lake of Geneva, were already covered with the delicate
green garlands of early spring, just bursting into bloom,
while the Rhone rushed wildly from its source among the green
glaciers which form the ice palace of the Ice Maiden. She
sometimes allows herself to be carried by the keen wind to the
lofty snow-fields, where she stretches herself in the sunshine
on the soft snowy-cushions. From thence she throws her
far-seeing glance into the deep valley beneath, where human
beings are busily moving about like ants on a stone in the
sun. "Spirits of strength, as the children of the sun call
you," cried the Ice Maiden, "ye are but worms! Let but a
snow-ball roll, and you and your houses and your towns are
crushed and swept away." And she raised her proud head, and
looked around her with eyes that flashed death from their
glance. From the valley came a rumbling sound; men were busily
at work blasting the rocks to form tunnels, and laying down
roads for the railway. "They are playing at work underground,
like moles," said she. "They are digging passages beneath the
earth, and the noise is like the reports of cannons. I shall
throw down my palaces, for the clamor is louder than the roar
of thunder." Then there ascended from the valley a thick
vapor, which waved itself in the air like a fluttering veil.
It rose, as a plume of feathers, from a steam engine, to
which, on the lately-opened railway, a string of carriages was
linked, carriage to carriage, looking like a winding serpent.
The train shot past with the speed of an arrow. "They play at
being masters down there, those spirits of strength!"
exclaimed the Ice Maiden; "but the powers of nature are still
the rulers." And she laughed and sang till her voice sounded
through the valley, and people said it was the rolling of an
avalanche. But the children of the sun sang in louder strains
in praise of the mind of man, which can span the sea as with a
yoke, can level mountains, and fill up valleys. It is the
power of thought which gives man the mastery over nature.

    Just at this moment there came across the snow-field,
where the Ice Maiden sat, a party of travellers. They had
bound themselves fast to each other, so that they looked like
one large body on the slippery plains of ice encircling the
deep abyss.

    "Worms!" exclaimed the Ice Maiden. "You, the lords of the
powers of nature!" And she turned away and looked maliciously
at the deep valley where the railway train was rushing by.
"There they sit, these thoughts!" she exclaimed. "There they
sit in their power over nature's strength. I see them all. One
sits proudly apart, like a king; others sit together in a
group; yonder, half of them are asleep; and when the steam
dragon stops, they will get out and go their way. The thoughts
go forth into the world," and she laughed.

    "There goes another avalanche," said those in the valley
beneath.

    "It will not reach us," said two who sat together behind
the steam dragon. "Two hearts and one beat," as people say.
They were Rudy and Babette, and the miller was with them. "I
am like the luggage," said he; "I am here as a necessary
appendage."

    "There sit those two," said the Ice Maiden. "Many a
chamois have I crushed. Millions of Alpine roses have I
snapped and broken off; not a root have I spared. I know them
all, and their thoughts, those spirits of strength!" and again
she laughed.

    "There rolls another avalanche," said those in the valley.


    X. THE GODMOTHER

    At Montreux, one of the towns which encircle the northeast
part of the lake of Geneva, lived Babette's godmother, the
noble English lady, with her daughters and a young relative.
They had only lately arrived, yet the miller had paid them a
visit, and informed them of Babette's engagement to Rudy. The
whole story of their meeting at Interlachen, and his brave
adventure with the eaglet, were related to them, and they were
all very much interested, and as pleased about Rudy and
Babette as the miller himself. The three were invited to come
to Montreux; it was but right for Babette to become acquainted
with her godmother, who wished to see her very much. A
steam-boat started from the town of Villeneuve, at one end of
the lake of Geneva, and arrived at Bernex, a little town
beyond Montreux, in about half an hour. And in this boat, the
miller, with his daughter and Rudy, set out to visit her
godmother. They passed the coast which has been so celebrated
in song. Here, under the walnut-trees, by the deep blue lake,
sat Byron, and wrote his melodious verses about the prisoner
confined in the gloomy castle of Chillon. Here, where Clarens,
with its weeping-willows, is reflected in the clear water,
wandered Rousseau, dreaming of Heloise. The river Rhone glides
gently by beneath the lofty snow-capped hills of Savoy, and
not far from its mouth lies a little island in the lake, so
small that, seen from the shore, it looks like a ship. The
surface of the island is rocky; and about a hundred years ago,
a lady caused the ground to be covered with earth, in which
three acacia-trees were planted, and the whole enclosed with
stone walls. The acacia-trees now overshadow every part of the
island. Babette was enchanted with the spot; it seemed to her
the most beautiful object in the whole voyage, and she thought
how much she should like to land there. But the steam-ship
passed it by, and did not stop till it reached Bernex. The
little party walked slowly from this place to Montreux,
passing the sun-lit walls with which the vineyards of the
little mountain town of Montreux are surrounded, and peasants'
houses, overshadowed by fig-trees, with gardens in which grow
the laurel and the cypress.

    Halfway up the hill stood the boarding-house in which
Babette's godmother resided. She was received most cordially;
her godmother was a very friendly woman, with a round, smiling
countenance. When a child, her head must have resembled one of
Raphael's cherubs; it was still an angelic face, with its
white locks of silvery hair. The daughters were tall, elegant,
slender maidens.

    The young cousin, whom they had brought with them, was
dressed in white from head to foot; he had golden hair and
golden whiskers, large enough to be divided amongst three
gentlemen; and he began immediately to pay the greatest
attention to Babette.

    Richly bound books, note-paper, and drawings, lay on the
large table. The balcony window stood open, and from it could
be seen the beautiful wide extended lake, the water so clear
and still, that the mountains of Savoy, with their villages,
woods, and snow-crowned peaks, were clearly reflected in it.

    Rudy, who was usually so lively and brave, did not in the
least feel himself at home; he acted as if he were walking on
peas, over a slippery floor. How long and wearisome the time
appeared; it was like being in a treadmill. And then they went
out for a walk, which was very slow and tedious. Two steps
forward and one backwards had Rudy to take to keep pace with
the others. They walked down to Chillon, and went over the old
castle on the rocky island. They saw the implements of
torture, the deadly dungeons, the rusty fetters in the rocky
walls, the stone benches for those condemned to death, the
trap-doors through which the unhappy creatures were hurled
upon iron spikes, and impaled alive. They called looking at
all these a pleasure. It certainly was the right place to
visit. Byron's poetry had made it celebrated in the world.
Rudy could only feel that it was a place of execution. He
leaned against the stone framework of the window, and gazed
down into the deep, blue water, and over to the little island
with the three acacias, and wished himself there, away and
free from the whole chattering party. But Babette was most
unusually lively and good-tempered.

    "I have been so amused," she said.

    The cousin had found her quite perfect.

    "He is a perfect fop," said Rudy; and this was the first
time Rudy had said anything that did not please Babette.

    The Englishman had made her a present of a little book, in
remembrance of their visit to Chillon. It was Byron's poem,
"The Prisoner of Chillon," translated into French, so that
Babette could read it.

    "The book may be very good," said Rudy; "but that finely
combed fellow who gave it to you is not worth much."

    "He looks something like a flour-sack without any flour,"
said the miller, laughing at his own wit. Rudy laughed, too,
for so had he appeared to him.


    XI. THE COUSIN

    When Rudy went a few days after to pay a visit to the
mill, he found the young Englishman there. Babette was just
thinking of preparing some trout to set before him. She
understood well how to garnish the dish with parsley, and make
it look quite tempting. Rudy thought all this quite
unnecessary. What did the Englishman want there? What was he
about? Why should he be entertained, and waited upon by
Babette? Rudy was jealous, and that made Babette happy. It
amused her to discover all the feelings of his heart; the
strong points and weak ones. Love was to her as yet only a
pastime, and she played with Rudy's whole heart. At the same
time it must be acknowledged that her fortune, her whole life,
her inmost thoughts, her best and most noble feelings in this
world were all for him. Still the more gloomy he looked, the
more her eyes laughed. She could almost have kissed the fair
Englishman, with the golden whiskers, if by so doing she could
have put Rudy in a rage, and made him run out of the house.
That would have proved how much he loved her. All this was not
right in Babette, but she was only nineteen years of age, and
she did not reflect on what she did, neither did she think
that her conduct would appear to the young Englishman as
light, and not even becoming the modest and much-loved
daughter of the miller.

    The mill at Bex stood in the highway, which passed under
the snow-clad mountains, and not far from a rapid
mountain-stream, whose waters seemed to have been lashed into
a foam like soap-suds. This stream, however, did not pass near
enough to the mill, and therefore the mill-wheel was turned by
a smaller stream which tumbled down the rocks on the opposite
side, where it was opposed by a stone mill-dam, and obtained
greater strength and speed, till it fell into a large basin,
and from thence through a channel to the mill-wheel. This
channel sometimes overflowed, and made the path so slippery
that any one passing that way might easily fall in, and be
carried towards the mill wheel with frightful rapidity. Such a
catastrophe nearly happened to the young Englishman. He had
dressed himself in white clothes, like a miller's man, and was
climbing the path to the miller's house, but he had never been
taught to climb, and therefore slipped, and nearly went in
head-foremost. He managed, however, to scramble out with wet
sleeves and bespattered trousers. Still, wet and splashed with
mud, he contrived to reach Babette's window, to which he had
been guided by the light that shone from it. Here he climbed
the old linden-tree that stood near it, and began to imitate
the voice of an owl, the only bird he could venture to mimic.
Babette heard the noise, and glanced through the thin window
curtain; but when she saw the man in white, and guessed who he
was, her little heart beat with terror as well as anger. She
quickly put out the light, felt if the fastening of the window
was secure, and then left him to howl as long as he liked. How
dreadful it would be, thought Babette, if Rudy were here in
the house. But Rudy was not in the house. No, it was much
worse, he was outside, standing just under the linden-tree. He
was speaking loud, angry words. He could fight, and there
might be murder! Babette opened the window in alarm, and
called Rudy's name; she told him to go away, she did not wish
him to remain there.

    "You do not wish me to stay," cried he; "then this is an
appointment you expected- this good friend whom you prefer to
me. Shame on you, Babette!"

    "You are detestable!" exclaimed Babette, bursting into
tears. "Go away. I hate you."

    "I have not deserved this," said Rudy, as he turned away,
his cheeks burning, and his heart like fire.

    Babette threw herself on the bed, and wept bitterly. "So
much as I loved thee, Rudy, and yet thou canst think ill of
me."

    Thus her anger broke forth; it relieved her, however:
otherwise she would have been more deeply grieved; but now she
could sleep soundly, as youth only can sleep.


    XII. EVIL POWERS

    Rudy left Bex, and took his way home along the mountain
path. The air was fresh, but cold; for here amidst the deep
snow, the Ice Maiden reigned. He was so high up that the large
trees beneath him, with their thick foliage, appeared like
garden plants, and the pines and bushes even less. The Alpine
roses grew near the snow, which lay in detached stripes, and
looked like linen laid out to bleach. A blue gentian grew in
his path, and he crushed it with the butt end of his gun. A
little higher up, he espied two chamois. Rudy's eyes
glistened, and his thoughts flew at once in a different
direction; but he was not near enough to take a sure aim. He
ascended still higher, to a spot where a few rough blades of
grass grew between the blocks of stone and the chamois passed
quietly on over the snow-fields. Rudy walked hurriedly, while
the clouds of mist gathered round him. Suddenly he found
himself on the brink of a precipitous rock. The rain was
falling in torrents. He felt a burning thirst, his head was
hot, and his limbs trembled with cold. He seized his
hunting-flask, but it was empty; he had not thought of filling
it before ascending the mountain. He had never been ill in his
life, nor ever experienced such sensations as those he now
felt. He was so tired that he could scarcely resist lying down
at his full length to sleep, although the ground was flooded
with the rain. Yet when he tried to rouse himself a little,
every object around him danced and trembled before his eyes.

    Suddenly he observed in the doorway of a hut newly built
under the rock, a young maiden. He did not remember having
seen this hut before, yet there it stood; and he thought, at
first, that the young maiden was Annette, the schoolmaster's
daughter, whom he had once kissed in the dance. The maiden was
not Annette; yet it seemed as if he had seen her somewhere
before, perhaps near Grindelwald, on the evening of his return
home from Interlachen, after the shooting-match.

    "How did you come here?" he asked.

    "I am at home," she replied; "I am watching my flocks."

    "Your flocks!" he exclaimed; "where do they find pasture?
There is nothing here but snow and rocks."

    "Much you know of what grows here," she replied, laughing.
"not far beneath us there is beautiful pasture-land. My goats
go there. I tend them carefully; I never miss one. What is
once mine remains mine."

    "You are bold," said Rudy.

    "And so are you," she answered.

    "Have you any milk in the house?" he asked; "if so, give
me some to drink; my thirst is intolerable."

    "I have something better than milk," she replied, "which I
will give you. Some travellers who were here yesterday with
their guide left behind them a half a flask of wine, such as
you have never tasted. They will not come back to fetch it, I
know, and I shall not drink it; so you shall have it."

    Then the maiden went to fetch the wine, poured some into a
wooden cup, and offered it to Rudy.

    "How good it is!" said he; "I have never before tasted
such warm, invigorating wine." And his eyes sparkled with new
life; a glow diffused itself over his frame; it seemed as if
every sorrow, every oppression were banished from his mind,
and a fresh, free nature were stirring within him. "You are
surely Annette, the schoolmaster's daughter," cried he; "will
you give me a kiss?"

    "Yes, if you will give me that beautiful ring which you
wear on your finger."

    "My betrothal ring?" he replied.

    "Yes, just so," said the maiden, as she poured out some
more wine, and held it to his lips. Again he drank, and a
living joy streamed through every vein.

    "The whole world is mine, why therefore should I grieve?"
thought he. "Everything is created for our enjoyment and
happiness. The stream of life is a stream of happiness; let us
flow on with it to joy and felicity."

    Rudy gazed on the young maiden; it was Annette, and yet it
was not Annette; still less did he suppose it was the spectral
phantom, whom he had met near Grindelwald. The maiden up here
on the mountain was fresh as the new fallen snow, blooming as
an Alpine rose, and as nimble-footed as a young kid. Still,
she was one of Adam's race, like Rudy. He flung his arms round
the beautiful being, and gazed into her wonderfully clear
eyes,- only for a moment; but in that moment words cannot
express the effect of his gaze. Was it the spirit of life or
of death that overpowered him? Was he rising higher, or
sinking lower and lower into the deep, deadly abyss? He knew
not; but the walls of ice shone like blue-green glass;
innumerable clefts yawned around him, and the water-drops
tinkled like the chiming of church bells, and shone clearly as
pearls in the light of a pale-blue flame. The Ice Maiden, for
she it was, kissed him, and her kiss sent a chill as of ice
through his whole frame. A cry of agony escaped from him; he
struggled to get free, and tottered from her. For a moment all
was dark before his eyes, but when he opened them again it was
light, and the Alpine maiden had vanished. The powers of evil
had played their game; the sheltering hut was no more to be
seen. The water trickled down the naked sides of the rocks,
and snow lay thickly all around. Rudy shivered with cold; he
was wet through to the skin; and his ring was gone,- the
betrothal ring that Babette had given him. His gun lay near
him in the snow; he took it up and tried to discharge it, but
it missed fire. Heavy clouds lay on the mountain clefts, like
firm masses of snow. Upon one of these Vertigo sat, lurking
after his powerless prey, and from beneath came a sound as if
a piece of rock had fallen from the cleft, and was crushing
everything that stood in its way or opposed its course.

    But, at the miller's, Babette sat alone and wept. Rudy had
not been to see her for six days. He who was in the wrong, and
who ought to ask her forgiveness; for did she not love him
with her whole heart?


    XIII. AT THE MILL

    "What strange creatures human beings are," said the
parlor-cat to the kitchen-cat; "Babette and Rudy have fallen
out with each other. She sits and cries, and he thinks no more
about her."

    "That does not please me to hear," said the kitchen-cat.

    "Nor me either," replied the parlor-cat; "but I do not
take it to heart. Babette may fall in love with the red
whiskers, if she likes, but he has not been here since he
tried to get on the roof."

    The powers of evil carry on their game both around us and
within us. Rudy knew this, and thought a great deal about it.
What was it that had happened to him on the mountain? Was it
really a ghostly apparition, or a fever dream? Rudy knew
nothing of fever, or any other ailment. But, while he judged
Babette, he began to examine his own conduct. He had allowed
wild thoughts to chase each other in his heart, and a fierce
tornado to break loose. Could he confess to Babette, indeed,
every thought which in the hour of temptation might have led
him to wrong doing? He had lost her ring, and that very loss
had won him back to her. Could she expect him to confess? He
felt as if his heart would break while he thought of it, and
while so many memories lingered on his mind. He saw her again,
as she once stood before him, a laughing, spirited child; many
loving words, which she had spoken to him out of the fulness
of her love, came like a ray of sunshine into his heart, and
soon it was all sunshine as he thought of Babette. But she
must also confess she was wrong; that she should do.

    He went to the mill- he went to confession. It began with
a kiss, and ended with Rudy being considered the offender. It
was such a great fault to doubt Babette's truth- it was most
abominable of him. Such mistrust, such violence, would cause
them both great unhappiness. This certainly was very true, she
knew that; and therefore Babette preached him a little sermon,
with which she was herself much amused, and during the
preaching of which she looked quite lovely. She acknowledged,
however, that on one point Rudy was right. Her godmother's
nephew was a fop: she intended to burn the book which he had
given her, so that not the slightest thing should remain to
remind her of him.

    "Well, that quarrel is all over," said the kitchen-cat.
"Rudy is come back, and they are friends again, which they say
is the greatest of all pleasures."

    "I heard the rats say one night," said the kitchen-cat,
"that the greatest pleasure in the world was to eat tallow
candles and to feast on rancid bacon. Which are we to believe,
the rats or the lovers?"

    "Neither of them," said the parlor-cat; "it is always the
safest plan to believe nothing you hear."

    The greatest happiness was coming for Rudy and Babette.
The happy day, as it is called, that is, their wedding-day,
was near at hand. They were not to be married at the church at
Bex, nor at the miller's house; Babette's godmother wished the
nuptials to be solemnized at Montreux, in the pretty little
church in that town. The miller was very anxious that this
arrangement should be agreed to. He alone knew what the
newly-married couple would receive from Babette's godmother,
and he knew also that it was a wedding present well worth a
concession. The day was fixed, and they were to travel as far
as Villeneuve the evening before, to be in time for the
steamer which sailed in the morning for Montreux, and the
godmother's daughters were to dress and adorn the bride.

    "Here in this house there ought to be a wedding-day kept,"
said the parlor-cat, "or else I would not give a mew for the
whole affair."

    "There is going to be great feasting," replied the
kitchen-cat. "Ducks and pigeons have been killed, and a whole
roebuck hangs on the wall. It makes me lick my lips when I
think of it."

    "To-morrow morning they will begin the journey."

    Yes, to-morrow! And this evening, for the last time, Rudy
and Babette sat in the miller's house as an engaged couple.
Outside, the Alps glowed in the evening sunset, the evening
bells chimed, and the children of the sunbeam sang, "Whatever
happens is best."


    XIV. NIGHT VISIONS

    The sun had gone down, and the clouds lay low on the
valley of the Rhone. The wind blew from the south across the
mountains; it was an African wind, a wind which scattered the
clouds for a moment, and then suddenly fell. The broken clouds
hung in fantastic forms upon the wood-covered hills by the
rapid Rhone. They assumed the shapes of antediluvian animals,
of eagles hovering in the air, of frogs leaping over a marsh,
and then sunk down upon the rushing stream and appeared to
sail upon it, although floating in the air. An uprooted
fir-tree was being carried away by the current, and marking
out its path by eddying circles on the water. Vertigo and his
sisters were dancing upon it, and raising these circles on the
foaming river. The moon lighted up the snow on the
mountain-tops, shone on the dark woods, and on the drifting
clouds those fantastic forms which at night might be taken for
spirits of the powers of nature. The mountain-dweller saw them
through the panes of his little window. They sailed in hosts
before the Ice Maiden as she came out of her palace of ice.
Then she seated herself on the trunk of the fir-tree as on a
broken skiff, and the water from the glaciers carried her down
the river to the open lake.

    "The wedding guests are coming," sounded from air and sea.
These were the sights and sounds without; within there were
visions, for Babette had a wonderful dream. She dreamt that
she had been married to Rudy for many years, and that, one day
when he was out chamois hunting, and she alone in their
dwelling at home, the young Englishman with the golden
whiskers sat with her. His eyes were quite eloquent, and his
words possessed a magic power; he offered her his hand, and
she was obliged to follow him. They went out of the house and
stepped downwards, always downwards, and it seemed to Babette
as if she had a weight on her heart which continually grew
heavier. She felt she was committing a sin against Rudy, a sin
against God. Suddenly she found herself forsaken, her clothes
torn by the thorns, and her hair gray; she looked upwards in
her agony, and there, on the edge of the rock, she espied
Rudy. She stretched out her arms to him, but she did not
venture to call him or to pray; and had she called him, it
would have been useless, for it was not Rudy, only his hunting
coat and hat hanging on an alpenstock, as the hunters
sometimes arrange them to deceive the chamois. "Oh!" she
exclaimed in her agony; "oh, that I had died on the happiest
day of my life, my wedding-day. O my God, it would have been a
mercy and a blessing had Rudy travelled far away from me, and
I had never known him. None know what will happen in the
future." And then, in ungodly despair, she cast herself down
into the deep rocky gulf. The spell was broken; a cry of
terror escaped her, and she awoke.

    The dream was over; it had vanished. But she knew she had
dreamt something frightful about the young Englishman, yet
months had passed since she had seen him or even thought of
him. Was he still at Montreux, and should she meet him there
on her wedding day? A slight shadow passed over her pretty
mouth as she thought of this, and she knit her brows; but the
smile soon returned to her lip, and joy sparkled in her eyes,
for this was the morning of the day on which she and Rudy were
to be married, and the sun was shining brightly. Rudy was
already in the parlor when she entered it, and they very soon
started for Villeneuve. Both of them were overflowing with
happiness, and the miller was in the best of tempers, laughing
and merry; he was a good, honest soul, and a kind father.

    "Now we are masters of the house," said the parlor-cat.


    XV. THE CONCLUSION

    It was early in the afternoon, and just at dinner-time,
when the three joyous travellers reached Villeneuve. After
dinner, the miller placed himself in the arm-chair, smoked his
pipe, and had a little nap. The bridal pair went arm-in-arm
out through the town and along the high road, at the foot of
the wood-covered rocks, and by the deep, blue lake.

    The gray walls, and the heavy clumsy-looking towers of the
gloomy castle of Chillon, were reflected in the clear flood.
The little island, on which grew the three acacias, lay at a
short distance, looking like a bouquet rising from the lake.
"How delightful it must be to live there," said Babette, who
again felt the greatest wish to visit the island; and an
opportunity offered to gratify her wish at once, for on the
shore lay a boat, and the rope by which it was moored could be
very easily loosened. They saw no one near, so they took
possession of it without asking permission of any one, and
Rudy could row very well. The oars divided the pliant water
like the fins of a fish- that water which, with all its
yielding softness, is so strong to bear and to carry, so mild
and smiling when at rest, and yet so terrible in its
destroying power. A white streak of foam followed in the wake
of the boat, which, in a few minutes, carried them both to the
little island, where they went on shore; but there was only
just room enough for two to dance. Rudy swung Babette round
two or three times; and then, hand-in-hand, they sat down on a
little bench under the drooping acacia-tree, and looked into
each other's eyes, while everything around them glowed in the
rays of the setting sun.

    The fir-tree forests on the mountains were covered with a
purple hue like the heather bloom; and where the woods
terminated, and the rocks became prominent, they looked almost
transparent in the rich crimson glow of the evening sky. The
surface of the lake was like a bed of pink rose-leaves.

    As the evening advanced, the shadows fell upon the
snow-capped mountains of Savoy painting them in colors of deep
blue, while their topmost peaks glowed like red lava; and for
a moment this light was reflected on the cultivated parts of
the mountains, making them appear as if newly risen from the
lap of earth, and giving to the snow-crested peak of the Dent
du Midi the appearance of the full moon as it rises above the
horizon.

    Rudy and Babette felt that they had never seen the Alpine
glow in such perfection before. "How very beautiful it is, and
what happiness to be here!" exclaimed Babette.

    "Earth has nothing more to bestow upon me," said Rudy; "an
evening like this is worth a whole life. Often have I realized
my good fortune, but never more than in this moment. I feel
that if my existence were to end now, I should still have
lived a happy life. What a glorious world this is; one day
ends, and another begins even more beautiful than the last.
How infinitely good God is, Babette!"

    "I have such complete happiness in my heart," said she.

    "Earth has no more to bestow," answered Rudy. And then
came the sound of the evening bells, borne upon the breeze
over the mountains of Switzerland and Savoy, while still, in
the golden splendor of the west, stood the dark blue mountains
of Jura.

    "God grant you all that is brightest and best!" exclaimed
Babette.

    "He will," said Rudy. "He will to-morrow. To-morrow you
will be wholly mine, my own sweet wife."

    "The boat!" cried Babette, suddenly. The boat in which
they were to return had broken loose, and was floating away
from the island.

    "I will fetch it back," said Rudy; throwing off his coat
and boots, he sprang into the lake, and swam with strong
efforts towards it.

    The dark-blue water, from the glaciers of the mountains,
was icy cold and very deep. Rudy gave but one glance into the
water beneath; but in that one glance he saw a gold ring
rolling, glittering, and sparkling before him. His engaged
ring came into his mind; but this was larger, and spread into
a glittering circle, in which appeared a clear glacier. Deep
chasms yawned around it, the water-drops glittered as if
lighted with blue flame, and tinkled like the chiming of
church bells. In one moment he saw what would require many
words to describe. Young hunters, and young maidens- men and
women who had sunk in the deep chasms of the glaciers- stood
before him here in lifelike forms, with eyes open and smiles
on their lips; and far beneath them could be heard the chiming
of the church bells of buried villages, where the villagers
knelt beneath the vaulted arches of churches in which
ice-blocks formed the organ pipes, and the mountain stream the
music.

    On the clear, transparent ground sat the Ice Maiden. She
raised herself towards Rudy, and kissed his feet; and
instantly a cold, deathly chill, like an electric shock,
passed through his limbs. Ice or fire! It was impossible to
tell, the shock was so instantaneous.

    "Mine! mine!" sounded around him, and within him; "I
kissed thee when thou wert a little child. I once kissed thee
on the mouth, and now I have kissed thee from heel to toe;
thou art wholly mine." And then he disappeared in the clear,
blue water.

    All was still. The church bells were silent; the last tone
floated away with the last red glimmer on the evening clouds.
"Thou art mine," sounded from the depths below: but from the
heights above, from the eternal world, also sounded the words,
"Thou art mine!" Happy was he thus to pass from life to life,
from earth to heaven. A chord was loosened, and tones of
sorrow burst forth. The icy kiss of death had overcome the
perishable body; it was but the prelude before life's real
drama could begin, the discord which was quickly lost in
harmony. Do you think this a sad story? Poor Babette! for her
it was unspeakable anguish.

    The boat drifted farther and farther away. No one on the
opposite shore knew that the betrothed pair had gone over to
the little island. The clouds sunk as the evening drew on, and
it became dark. Alone, in despair, she waited and trembled.
The weather became fearful; flash after flash lighted up the
mountains of Jura, Savoy, and Switzerland, while peals of
thunder, that lasted for many minutes, rolled over her head.
The lightning was so vivid that every single vine stem could
be seen for a moment as distinctly as in the sunlight at
noon-day; and then all was veiled in darkness. It flashed
across the lake in winding, zigzag lines, lighting it up on
all sides; while the echoes of the thunder grew louder and
stronger. On land, the boats were all carefully drawn up on
the beach, every living thing sought shelter, and at length
the rain poured down in torrents.

    "Where can Rudy and Babette be in this awful weather?"
said the miller.

    Poor Babette sat with her hands clasped, and her head
bowed down, dumb with grief; she had ceased to weep and cry
for help.

    "In the deep water!" she said to herself; "far down he
lies, as if beneath a glacier."

    Deep in her heart rested the memory of what Rudy had told
her of the death of his mother, and of his own recovery, even
after he had been taken up as dead from the cleft in the
glacier.

    "Ah," she thought, "the Ice Maiden has him at last."

    Suddenly there came a flash of lightning, as dazzling as
the rays of the sun on the white snow. The lake rose for a
moment like a shining glacier; and before Babette stood the
pallid, glittering, majestic form of the Ice Maiden, and at
her feet lay Rudy's corpse.

    "Mine!" she cried, and again all was darkness around the
heaving water.

    "How cruel," murmured Babette; "why should he die just as
the day of happiness drew near? Merciful God, enlighten my
understanding, shed light upon my heart; for I cannot
comprehend the arrangements of Thy providence, even while I
bow to the decree of Thy almighty wisdom and power." And God
did enlighten her heart.

    A sudden flash of thought, like a ray of mercy, recalled
her dream of the preceding night; all was vividly represented
before her. She remembered the words and wishes she had then
expressed, that what was best for her and for Rudy she might
piously submit to.

    "Woe is me," she said; "was the germ of sin really in my
heart? was my dream a glimpse into the course of my future
life, whose thread must be violently broken to rescue me from
sin? Oh, miserable creature that I am!"

    Thus she sat lamenting in the dark night, while through
the deep stillness the last words of Rudy seemed to ring in
her ears. "This earth has nothing more to bestow." Words,
uttered in the fulness of joy, were again heard amid the
depths of sorrow.

    Years have passed since this sad event happened. The
shores of the peaceful lake still smile in beauty. The vines
are full of luscious grapes. Steamboats, with waving flags,
pass swiftly by. Pleasure-boats, with their swelling sails,
skim lightly over the watery mirror, like white butterflies.
The railway is opened beyond Chillon, and goes far into the
deep valley of the Rhone. At every station strangers alight
with red-bound guide-books in their hands, in which they read
of every place worth seeing. They visit Chillon, and observe
on the lake the little island with the three acacias, and then
read in their guide-book the story of the bridal pair who, in
the year 1856, rowed over to it. They read that the two were
missing till the next morning, when some people on the shore
heard the despairing cries of the bride, and went to her
assistance, and by her were told of the bridegroom's fate.

    But the guide-book does not speak of Babette's quiet life
afterwards with her father, not at the mill- strangers dwell
there now- but in a pretty house in a row near the station. On
many an evening she sits at her window, and looks out over the
chestnut-trees to the snow-capped mountains on which Rudy once
roamed. She looks at the Alpine glow in the evening sky, which
is caused by the children of the sun retiring to rest on the
mountain-tops; and again they breathe their song of the
traveller whom the whirlwind could deprive of his cloak but
not of his life. There is a rosy tint on the mountain snow,
and there are rosy gleams in each heart in which
dwells the thought, "God permits nothing to happen, which is
not the best for us." But this is not often revealed to all,
as it was revealed to Babette in her wonderful dream.


                            THE END