... ）ſaeae， * * · * * * * · * * * * * * * * * * * .º ， ， ， ，; ： » （， ， ， ， # ***' » '，ș， ********** （ſ（ t ≤ ≥ ≡ ≈ ſ.* * （ ）·*******： *, * * ** * * ， ， ， ,* * * * · * * * · *ğ º ſº º§ 3 . . ！ » , ， ， ， și* ..., … * * · *∞ 8 & -， '…º, , ， , ， , , ， , º.º.| º.º. º.º.º.º.º. （…”.º.º. ſ. * * * * · · · · * ſ; }， ， ， ， . . . .º * * * *r.~---* （ - .º ： » ， ， ， ·* ， ， ！ §§§§&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&*）（?:¿ºſºſae#::::：:::：::：:::& ſae?）§§*******）****** ſ. * ∞ √°. § 3∞ √°. aºsºnº; ºſ 3 （ ） ; * º.º.º.º， , ）. ...º, , ， ）: * * * ¡ ¿ * * * * ！ № š aſ · · · · · · · · -ſº: ， , 83,8%s*$% U: É PE {= f i. E8 ſ=ſ. №j En E8 EO T OIC S. & WNew CT(*@ cºcº cº - a cººrºººººººººº. º CUN's PM ~ * • * 3. ( : THI NAssy mimimummimſºmºrºntmºrlinºiſ. IIITT º & sº * * * * * * * tº ſº º ºs º ºs º ºs º º sº º gº tº sº sº º ºs º ºs ºr sº ºn as s ºr as sº as a tº gº ºn gº tº g º ºx & ſº ſº tº gº gº & º ºs º C gº gº CE EŁrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!?= §ffffffffffffffffffffffff Ruſh!!!NMMNºllulºlºſſ!!MillſUllſ'ſſiſt!!!NAMINITIMITTI %%ſae№ gºſ： Žºffael$# ! Fº § j. * J §: A trº- - - - \ 'e','º','e','ºx'aº...º.º.º. **.*.*.*.*.*aš sº 3& :*:::$º: º;& * A Tri-Weekly Magazine. ſ Entered at the Post-Office, New York, as Second-Class Matter. VOL. II. . * * * . $5.00 No. 60, } JUNE 23, 1883. | &º A YEAR. . THE ICE M AIDEN, **** AND OTHER TALES. :*- B y "H A N S C H R IS TI A N A N D E R S E N. sº li’ T H I L L U.S T R A TI O N S. , by me. A GOOD OPEPO BTUINITY. : % § ; * gA. *-- : an & : t i : º . § i : X:Ž& § wº : To the Friends of THE ELZEVIR LIBRARY who will aid in furthering its circulation I offer the following inducernents : º § : % : Nº.§ : For $5 I will send your Own selections from THE ELZEVIR LI- BRARY to that value, at prices aſſixed, (see next page), and credit you $1.25 toward the net price of a { ; º: & : * : § X Sº,N 3. * * ny publications advertised º &.x § * N º § 3 * >. § For $10 I will send your own selections, as above, and credit $3 in the same manner, and for each additional $1 beyond $10 I will credit 30 cents toward the net price of any books wanted. - Unbound numbers of THE ELZEVIR LIBRARY will be sent by mail, prepaid ; all bound books sent by express; or, if desired by mail, add 15 per cent. Of list prices to prepay postage. NEW YORK: - Jo HN B. A. L.D EN, PUBLISHER. 1883. - - * - ºr - - * **.*.* ...ºes.” & “...º.º.º.º.º. …e. º.º.º.º.º.º.º. ***,”, Sººº. *...* º - * & Sº...º.º. Sº, (*.; V *S*::::32:3×3 . : : ; w *: § s & § : % § : : s : : : s .* : : § & : : X § : §º º : : : § 3. •. : : Aº.º.º.º. ºw * * THE2KIZEVIR LIBRHR ' ' ' it is intended that each number of THE ELZ ––– T ~ * ~~~ ~1––11—------1–?--— -- ... --- *... - 1.----- *-*.* - * * * * * * * * * * * * - - - - - - - - - - - * * * * * * * * * * e • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * m w tº e º w tº 4 º' e º h # * * * * * * * * * * * :- - - - - - - - - - - : | à - - - - - - - e - - - * * s - e º e º e º gº * * * * * * * * * * * º º 'º - 9 - e º - º ºr * @ e º s - w tº - sº t s - - ºn a - is - º º * * * * * * * * * * e e 4 s - e s - e n * - - - - - - - - - s & tº $ tº m e s sº is tº a s w tº e º 'º a tº e º 'º w w 4 & w tº * ,i * - e s s • * * * * $7 Senega and St. Paul. By Cañon F-W. Farrar 66 The Celtic Hermits. By Charles K- #. 65 Schiller's History of the Thirty Yefi.3’War 64 The Essays of Lord Bacon. Complete................................. 63 Mid-King's Daughter, and Qther Stories. Hans Andersen...Illus... :. 62. The § Duck, and ôther Štories. P. Hans Andersen. Illus..... 10C £i The Pieńºre Book without Fictures. By Hans Andersen. Illus. ... 100 (Continued on third cover-page.) * {.. #h ( * * * * * * * * * a s e s = • * * * * * * - - tº e º 'º tº º º E & G s - º is a g º a tº e º & * A tº e º ſº tº e s m º º q e a ſº º N ºr w w w w w e º 'º 4 -- - - - - - - --rº zerº-rººms. - ſº sCº. Fºllº º 2) - 3 † Hans Andersen's Library. 3mil diſcº Jalºg, BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. II IL, IL. U S T R A TIE IDo CONTENTS. THE ICE MAIDEN:— Little Rudy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ............. The Journey to the New Home The Father's Brother * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * . • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The Eagle's Nest. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . * * * * * * * * * * * The News which the Parlour-Cat related. . . . . . . . . . . . . The Ice-Maiden. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Godmother... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Cousin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Evil Powers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . In the Miller's House The Vision of the Night & 4 e º 'º e o a * * * s • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ~ * Conclusion...... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . THE BUTTERFLY............................ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . THE PSYCHE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . tº a w w tº - º * * * * * * * is a e º a s = * * * * * * * * * tº a tº e s 4 ~ e s ∈ e º a • * * * * * * * * * PAGE 46 67 71 ſ 79 l £ittle ºthy. ET us visit Switzerland and look £ around us in the glorious country of mountains, where the forest rises § out of steep rocky walls; let us ascend to the dazzling snow-fields, and thence descend to the green plains, where the rivulets and brooks hasten away, foaming up, as if they feared not to vanish as they reached the sea. The sun beams upon the deep valley; it burns also upon the heavy masses of snow, so that after the lapse of years they melt into shining ice-blocks and be- ** : * ~ . . . t 4 A, is “ ~& " ... s3 - * : * ~ * * - #2 *. ~-- * 10 - LITTLE RUDY. come rolling avalanches and heaped-up glaciers. - Two of these lie in the broad clefts of the rock, under the Schreckhorn and Wet- terhorn, near the little town of Grindel- wald. They are so Iemarkable that many strangers come to gaze at them, in the summer-time, from all parts of the world; they come over the high snow-covered mountains, they come from the deepest valleys, and they are obliged to ascend during many hours, and, as they ascend, the valley sinks deeper and deeper, as though seen from an air-balloon. Far around the peaks of the moun- tains the clouds often hang like heavy curtains of smoke ; whilst down in the valley, where the many brown wooden houses lie scattered about, a Sunbeam shines, and here and there brings out a - tiny spot in radiant green, as though it were transparent. The water roars, froths, ax, sº IITTLE RUDY. 11 and foams below, the water hums and tinkles above, and it looks as if silver ribbons were fluttering over the cliffs. On each side of the way, as one ascends, are wooden houses. Each house has a little potato-garden,-and that is a neces- sity, for in the door-way are many little mouths. There are plenty of children, and they can consume abundance of food: they rush out of the houses, and throng about the travellers, come they on foot or in carriage. The whole horde of chil- dren traffic : the little ones offer prettily carved wooden houses for sale, similar to those they build on the mountains. Rain or shine, the children assemble with their wares. Some twenty years ago, there stood here, several times, a little boy, who wished to sell his toys. But he always kept aloof from the other children; he stood with serious countenance and with both hands 12 LITTLE RUDY. tightly clasped around his wooden box, as if he feared it would slip away from him. But on account of this gravity, and be. cause the boy was so small, it caused him to be remarked, and often he made the best bargain, without knowing why. His grandfather lived still higher in the moun. tains; and it was he who carved the pretty wooden houses. There stood in his room an old cupboard, full of carvings; there were nut-crackers, knives, spoons, and boxes with delicate foliage, and leaping chamois; there was everything which could rejoice a merry child's eye; but this little fellow (he was named Rudy) looked at and desired only the old gun under the rafters. His grandfather had said that he should have it some day, but that he must first grow big and strong enough to use it. Small as the boy was, he was obliged to take care of the goats; and, if he who can climb with them is a good guardian, well, LITTLE RUDY. 18 }. º |-- *-*sº then indeed was Rudy. Why, he climbed even higher than they ! He loved to take the birds' nests from the trees, high in the air, for he was bold and daring; and he only smiled when he stood by the roaring waterfall or when he heard a rolling ava- lanche. He never played with the other children; he only met them when his grandfather sent him out to sell his carvings, and Rudy took but little interest in this. He much preferred to wander about the rocks, or to sit and listen to his grandfather relate about old times and about the inhabitants of Meiringen, where he came from. He said that these people had not been there since the beginning of the world; they had come from the far North, where the race called Swedes dwelt. To know this was indeed great wisdom; and Rudy knew this. But he became still wiser through the inter. course which he had with the other occu. 14 LITTLE RUDY. pants of the house,_belonging to the ani- mal race. There was a large dog, Ajola, an heirloom from Rudy's father, —and a cat ; and she was of great importance tG Rudy, for she had taught him to climb. “Come out on the roof!” said the cat, quite plain and distinctly, for when one is a child, and cannot yet speak, one understands the hens and ducks, the cats and dogs, remark- ably well; they speak for us as intelligibly as father or mother. One needs but to be little, and then even grandfather's stick can neigh, and become a horse, with head, legs, and tail. With some children this knowl- ‘edge slips away later than with others; and people say of these that they are very backward, that they remain child- ren fearfully long—People say so many things “Come with me, little Rudy, out on the roofſ" was about the first thing that the cat said, that Rudy understood. “It is all LITTLE RUDY. - 15 * imagination about falling: One does not faſ, when one does not fear to do so. Come; place your one paw so, and your other sol Take care of your fore-paws | Look sharp with your eyes, and give suppleness to your limbs | If there be a hole, jump, hold fast: that's the way I do ſ” And Rudy did so; and that was the reason that he sat out on the roof with the cat so often : he sat with her in the tree- tops, yes, he sat on the edge of the rocks, where the cats could not come. “Higher, higher ſ” said the trees and bushes. “See how we climb how high we go, how firm we hold on, even on the Outermost peaks of the rocks!” And Rudy went generally on the moun- tain before the Sun rose, and then he got his morning drink, the fresh, strengthening mountain air, the drink that our Lord only can prepare, and men can read its recipe, and thus it stands written:--" the fresh 16 LITTLE RUDY. scent of the herbs of the mountains and the mint and thyme of the valleys.” All heaviness is imbibed by the hanging clouds, and the wind sends it out like grape-shot into the fir-Woods; the fragrant breeze becomes perfume, light and fresh and ever fresher: that was Rudy's morning drink. The blessing bringing daughters of the Sun, the sunbeams, kissed his cheeks, and Vertigo stood and watched, but dared not approach him ; and the Swallows below from grandfather's house, where there were no less than seven nests, flew up to him and the goats, and they sang, “We and you ! and you and we ſ” They brought greetings from home, even from the two hens, the only birds in the room, -with whom, how- ever, Rudy never had intercourse. Little as he was, he had travelled, and not a little for so small a boy. He was born in the Canton Valais, and had been LITTLE RUDY. 17 carried from there over the mountains, Lately he had visited the Staubbach, which waves in the air like a silver gauze before the snow-decked, dazzling-white mountain, “the Jungfrau.” And he had been in Grindelwald, near the great glaciers; but that was a sad story. There his mother had found her death, and “little Rudy" (so said his grandfather) “had lost his childish merriment.” “When the boy was not a year old, he laughed more than he cried,” (so wrote his mother;) “but since he was in the ice-gap, quite another mind has come over him.” His grandfather did not like to speak on the subject, but every one on the mountain knew all about it. Rudy's father had been a postilion, and the large dog in the room had always followed him on his journeys to the Lake of Geneva, over the Simplon. In the valley of the Rhone, in Canton Valais, still lived Rudy's family on his father's side, 18 LITTLE RUDY. ! and his father's brother was a famous chamois-hunter and a well-known guide. Rudy was only a year old when he lost his father, and his mother longed to return to her relations in Berner Oberlande. Her father lived a few hours' walk from Grin- delwald: he was a carver in wood, and earned enough by it to live. In the month of June, carrying her little child, she started homewards, accompanied by two chamois-hunters, intending to cross the Gemmi on their way to Grindelwald. They already had accomplished the longer part of their journey, had passed the high ridges, had come to the snow-plains, they already saw the valley of their home, with its well-known wooden houses, and had now but to reach the summit of one of the great glaciers. The snow had freshly fallen and concealed a cleft, which did not lead to the deepest abyss, where the water roared, but still deeper than man LITTLE RUDY. 19 * could reach. The young woman, who was holding her child, slipped, sank, and was gone: one heard no cry, no sigh, naught but a little child weeping. More than an hour elapsed before her companions could bring poles and ropes from the nearest house, in Order to afford assistance. After great exertion, they drew from the ice-gap what appeared to be two lifeless bodies: every means were employed, and they succeeded in calling the child back to life, but not the mother. So the old grand- father received, instead of a daughter, a daughter's son in his house, the little one who laughed more than he wept, but who now seemed to have lost this custom. A change in him had certainly taken place, in the cleft of the glacier, in the wonderful cold world, where, according to the belief of the Swiss peasant, the souls of the damned are incarcerated until the day of judgment. 20. LITTLE RUDY. --ee- Not unlike water which, after long jour- neying, has been compressed into blocks of green glass, the glaciers lie here, so that one huge mass of ice is heaped on the other. The rushing stream roars below and melts snow and ice; within, hollow caverns and mighty clefts open: this is a wonderful palace of ice, and in it dwells the Ice-Maiden, the Queen of the glaciers. She, the murderess, the destroyer, is half a child of air and half the powerful ruler of the streams: therefore, she had received the power to elevate herself with the speed of the chamois to the highest pin- nacle of the snow-topped mountain, where the most daring mountaineer had to hew his way in order to take firm foothold. She sails up the rushing river on a slender fir-branch, springs from one cliff to another, with her long snow-white hair fluttering around her, and with her bluish-green LITTLE RUDY. 21 mantle, which resembles the water of the deep Swiss lakes. “Crush, hold fast ! the power is mine!” cried she. “They have stolen a lovely boy from me, a boy whom I had kissed, but not kissed to death. He is again with men, he tends the goats on the mountains; he climbs up, up high, beyond the reach of all others, but not beyond mine ! He is mine ! I shall have him ſ” And she ordered Vertigo to fulfil her duty: it was too warm for the Ice-Maiden, in summer-time, in the green spots where the mint thrives. Vertigo arose: one came, three came (for Vertigo had many sisters, very many of them), and the Maiden chose the strongest among those that rule within doors and without. They sit on the balus- ters and on the spires of the steep towers; they tread through the air as the swimmer glides through the water, and entice their prey down the abyss. Vertigo and the * * ** 22 LITTLE RUDY. Ice-Maiden seize on men as the polypus clutches at all within its reach. Vertigo was to gain possession of Rudy. “Yes just catch him for me,” said Vertigo. “I cannot do it! The cat, the dirty thing, has taught him her arts | The child of the race of man possesses a power that repulses me: I cannot get at the little boy when he hangs by the branches over the abyss. I may tickle him on the soles of his feet or give him a box on the ear whilst he is swinging in the air: it is of no avail. I can do nothing !” “We can do it !” said the Ice-Maiden. “You Or II Iſ II”— A. “No, no!” sounded back the echo of the church-bells through the mountain, like a sweet melody; it was like speech, an harmonious chorus of all the spirits of nature, mild, good, full of love, for it came from the daughters of the sunbeams, who encamped themselves every evening in a LITTLE RUDY. 23 - circle around the pinnacles of the moun tains, and spread out their rose-coloured wings, that grow more and more red as the sun sinks, and glow over the high Alps: men call it “the Alpine glow.” When the sun is down, they enter the peaks of the rocks and sleep on the white snow until the sun rises, and then they !, sally forth. Above all, they love flowers, - butterflies, and men, and amongst them they had chosen little Rudy as their favourite. “You will not catch him 1 You shall not have him " said they. “I have caught and kept stronger and larger ones ſ” said the Ice-Maiden. Then the daughters of the Sun sang a lay of the wanderer, whose cloak the whirl- wind had torn off and carried away. The wind took the covering, but not the man. § *. º & º ºf \! is: lº § ºf iſº * 3. *: p” .* Jº. : “Ye children of strength can seize, but not hold him : he is stronger, he is more *** * 24 LITTLE RUDY. spirit-like, than we ; he ascends higher than the Sun, our mother | He possesses the magic word that restrains wind and water, so that they are obliged to obey and serve him ſ” 3. So sounded cheerfully the bell-like chorus. And every morning the Sunbeams shone through the tiny window in the grand- father's house on the quiet child. The daughters of the sunbeams kissed him, they wished to thaw him, to warm him, and to carry away with them the icy kiss which the queenly maiden of the glaciers had given him as he lay on his dead mother's lap, in the deep icy gap whence he was saved through a miracle. THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 25 - II. (ſº jºurney tº fºº #tº jømt. UDY was now eight years old. His father's brother, in Rhonethal, the other side of the mountain, wished to have the boy, for he thought that with him he would fare and prosper better. His grandfather perceived this, and gave his consent. Rudy must go. There were others to ake leave of him besides his grandfather. First there was Ajola, the old dog. * “Your father was post-boy, and was # post-dog,” said Ajola. “We have travelled up and down: I know dogs and men on 26 THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HomE. the other side of the mountain. It is not my custom to speak much ; but now, that we shall not have much time to converse with each other, I must talk a little more than usual. I will relate a story to you : I shall tell you how I have earned my bread, and how I have eaten it. I do not understand it, and I suppose that you will not either; but it matters not, for I have discovered that the good things of this earth are not equally divided between dogs or men. All are not fitted to lie on the lap and sip milk; I have not been accustomed to it; but I saw a little dog seated in the coach with us, and it occupied a person's place. The woman who was its mistress, or who belonged to its mistress, had a bottle filled with milk, out of which she fed it; it got sweet sugar biscuits, too, but it would not even eat them,-only snuffed at them,-and so the woman ate them herself. I ran in the mud, by the § ~~ | s sºms THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 27 side of the coach, as bungry as a dog could be: I chewed my crude thoughts. That was not right; but this is often done! If I could but have been carried on some one's knee and have been seated in a coach | But one cannot have all one desires. I have not been able to do so, neither with barking nor with yawning.” That was Ajola's speech; and Rudy seized him by the neck and kissed him on his moist mouth. And then he took the cat in his arms; but she was angry at it. “You are getting too strong for me, and I will not use my claws against you ! Just climb over the mountains: I taught you to climb! Never think that you will fall, then you are secure ſ” Then the cat ran away, without letting Rudy see how her grief shone out of her eye. The hens ran about the floor: one had lost her tail; a traveller, who wished to * ºt 28 THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. be a hunter, had shot it off, because the creature had taken the hen for a bird of prey ! “Rudy is going over the mountain ſ” said one hen, “He is always in a hurry,” said the other, “and I do not care for leave-takings!” and so they both tripped away. And the goats too, said farewell, and cried, “Mit, mit, mah!" and that was so sad. There were two nimble guides in the neighbourhood, and they were about to cross the mountains; they were to descend to the other side of the Gemmi, and Rudy followed them on foot. This was a severe march for such a little chap; but he had strength and courage, and felt not fatigue. The swallows accompanied them a part of the way. They sang, “We and you ! You and weſ” The road went over the rapid Lütschine, which rushes forth from *=- * THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 29 —º- * the black clefts of the glacier of Grindel. wald in many little streams. The fallen timber and the quarry-stones serve as bridges; they pass the alder-bush and descend the mountain where the glacier has detached itself from the mountain-side; they cross over the glacier, over the blocks of ice, and go around them. Rudy was obliged to creep a little, to walk a little; his eyes sparkled with delight, and he trod as firmly with his iron-shod mountain- shoes as though he wished to leave his footprints where he had stepped. The black mud which the mountain stream had poured upon the glacier gave it a calcined appearance, but the bluish-green, glassy ice still shone through it. They were obliged to go around the little ponds which were dammed up by blocks of ice during these wanderings they came too near a large stone, which lay tottering on the brink of a crevice in the ice. The 80 THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HomE. ~& stone lost its equilibrium; it fell, rolled, nd the echo resounded from the deep dollow paths of the glacier. - Up, ever up ! The glacier stretched it. self on high, as a river of wildly heaped- up masses of ice, compressed among the steep cliffs. For an instant Rudy thought on what they had told him, about his having lain with his mother in one of these cold - breathing chasms. Such thoughts soon vanished : it seemed to him as though it were some other story, one of the many which had been related to him. Now and then when the men thought that the ascent was too difficult for the little lad, they would reach him their hand; but he was never weary, and stood on the slippery ice as firm as a chamois. Now they reached the bottom of the rocks: they were soon among the bare stones, which were void of moss, - soon under the low fir-trees, and again s—º THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME, 31 ** ont on the green common, ever changing ever new. Around them arose the snow mountains, whose names were as familiar to Rudy as they were to every child in the neighbourhood: “the Jungfrau,” “the Mönch,” and “the Eiger.” Rudy had never been so high before, had never before trodden on the vast sea of snow, which lay there with its immovable waves. The wind blew single flakes about, as it blows the foam upon the waters of the sea. Glacier stood by glacier, if one may say So, hand in hand; each one was an ice- palace for the Ice-Maiden, whose power and will is “to catch and to bury.” The sun burned warmly; the snow was dazzling, as if sown with bluish-white, glittering diamond sparks. Countless in- sects (butterflies and bees mostly) lay in masses dead on the snow : they had ventured too high, or the wind had borne 82 THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HomE. them thither but to breathe their last in these cold regions. A threatening cloud hung over the Wetterhorn, like a fine black tuft of wool. It lowered itself slowly, heavily, with that which lay concealed within it; and this was the “Föhn,”* powerful in its strength when it broke loose. The impression of the entire journey—the night quarters above, and then the road beyond, the deep rocky chasms, where the water forced its way through the blocks of stone with terri- ble rapidity—engraved itself indelibly on Rudy's mind. On the other side of the sea of snow, a forsaken stone hut gave them protection and shelter for the night. A fire was quickly lighted, for they found within it charcoal and fir-branches. They arranged their couch as well as possible. The men seated themselves around the fire, smoked •A humid south wind on the lakes of Switzerland-a fearful storia. THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 83 —f their tobacco, and drank the warm spicy drink, which they had prepared for them- selves. Rudy had his share too; and they told him of the mysterious beings of the Alpine country; of the singular fighting snakes in the deep lakes; of the people of night; of the hordes of spectres, who carry sleepers through the air towards the wonderful floating city of Venice; of the wild shepherd, who drives his black sheep over the meadow; it is true they had never been seen, but the sound of the bells and the unhappy bellowing of the flock had been heard. Rudy listened eagerly, but without any fear, for he did not even know what that was ; and whilst he listened he thought he heard the ghost-like hollow bellowing ! Yes, it became more and more distinct: the men heard it also. They stopped talking, listened, and told Rudy he must not sleep. 8 84 THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW Homs. It was the Föhn which blew, the power. ful storm-wind, which rushes down the mountains into the valley, and with its strength bends the trees as if they were mere reeds, and lifts the wooden houses from one side of the river to the other, as if the move had been made on a chess- board. After the lapse of an hour, they told Rudy that the storm had now blown over, and that he might rest. With this license, fatigued by his march, he at once fell asleep. They departed early in the morning. The sun showed Rudy new mountains, new glaciers and snow-fields; they had now reached Canton Valais and the other side of the mountain-ridge which was visible at Grindelwald, but they were still far from the new home. Other chasms, precipices, pasture-grounds, forests, and paths through the woods unfolded them THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 35 * selves to the view; other houses, other human beings—but what human beings 1 Deformed creatures, with unmeaning, fat, yellowish-white faces, with a large, ugly, fleshy lump on their necks: these were cretins, who dragged themselves miserably along and gazed with their stupid eyes on the strangers who arrived among them, As for the women, the greatest number of them were frightful! Were these the inhabitants of the new home? 86 THE FATHER'S BROTHER. III. (ſºt ſailºtt's Étºiltr. HE people in the uncle's house looked, thank heaven, like those whom Rudy was accustomed to º see. But one cretin was there, a poor silly lad, one of the many miserable creatures who, on account of their poverty and need, always make their home among the families of Canton Valais and remain with each but a couple of months. The wretched Saperli happened to be there when Rudy arrived. Rudy's father's brother was still a vigor. ous hunter, and was also a cooper by THE FATHER'S BROTHER. 37 trade: his wife, a lively little person, had what is called a bird's face; her eyes resembled those of an eagle, and she had a long neck entirely covered with down. Everything was new to Rudy, the dress, manners and customs, yes, even the lan- guage; but that is soon acquired and understood by a child's ear. Here they seemed to be better off than in his grand- father's house: the dwelling-rooms were larger, the walls looked gay with their chamois-horns and highly polished rifles. Over the doorway hung the picture of the blessed Virgin ; alpine roses and a burning lamp stood before it. His uncle was, as we have said before, one of the most famous chamois-hunters in the neighbourhood, and also the most ex- perienced and best guide. Rudy was to be the pet of the household, although there already was one, an old deaf and blind dog, whom they could no $8 THE FATHER'S BROTHER. longer use; but they remembered his many past Services, and he was looked upon as a member of the family, and was to pass his old days in peace. Rudy patted the dog; but he would have nothing to do with strangers; Rudy did not long remain one, for he soon took firm hold both in house and heart. “One is not badly off in Canton Valais,” said his uncle, “we have the chamois: they do not die out so soon as the moun- tain-goat It is a great deal better here now than in the old times. They may talk about their glory as much as they please: the present time is much better; for a hole has been made in the purse, and light and air let into our quiet valley, When old worn-out customs die away, something new springs forth P’ said he. When uncle became talkative, he told of the years of his childhood, and of his father's active time, when Valais was still THE FATHER's BROTHER. 39 a closed purse, as the people called it, and when it was filled with sick people and miserable cretins. French soldiers cance: they were the right kind of doctors: they not only shot down the sickness, but the men also. “The Frenchmen can beat the stones until they surrender; they cut the Sim- plon-road out of the rocks; they have hewn out such a road that I now can tell a three-year-old child to go to Italy Reep to the highway, and a child may find his way there !” Then the uncle would sing a French song and cry, “Hurrah for Napoleon Bonaparteſ” Rudy now heard for the first time of France, of Lyons,—the large city of the Rhone; for his uncle had been there. “I wonder if Rudy will become an agile chamois-hunter in a few years? He has every disposition for it !” said his uncle and instructed him how to hold a rifle ^- 40 THE FATHER'S BROTHER. how to aim and to fire. In the hunting. season he took him with him in the mountains and made him drink the warm chamois-blood, which prevents the hunter from becoming dizzy. He taught him to heed the time when the avalanches roll down the different sides of the mountain, —at mid-day or at nightfall,—which de pended upon the heat of the rays of the sun. He taught him to notice the chamois in order to learn from them how to jump so as to alight steadily upon the feet. If there was no resting-place in the clefts of the rock for the foot, he must know how to support himself with the elbow, and be able to climb by means of the muscles of the thigh and calf; even the neck must serve when it is necessary. The chamois are cunning, they place outguards; but the hunter must be still more cunning, and follow the trail, and he can deceive them by hanging his coat and hat on his —-sº THE FATHER'S BROTHER. 41 alpine stick, and so make the chamois ake the coat for the man. One day, when Rudy was out with his uncle hunting, he tried this sport. The rocky path was not wide: indeed, there was scarcely any, only a narrow ledge, close to the dizzy abyss. The snow was half-thawed, the stones crumbled when trodden upon, and his uncle stretched him- self out full length and crept along. Each stone, as it broke away, fell, knocked itself, bounded, and then rolled down; it made many leaps from one rocky wall to another, until it found repose in the black deep.– Rudy stood about a hundred steps behind his uncle on the outermost cliff, and saw a huge golden vulture hovering over his uncle and sailing towards him through the air, as though wishing to cast the creeping Worm into the abyss with one blow of his wing, and to make carrion of him. His . . ." uncle had only eyes for the chamois and its 42 THE FATHER'S BROTHER. young kid, on the other side of the cleft— Rudy looked at the bird, understood what it wanted, and laid his hand on his rifle in order to shoot it. At that moment the cha- mois leaped : his uncle fired; the ball hit the animal, but the kid was gone, as though flight and danger had been its life's experi- ence. The monstrous bird, terrified by the report of the gun, took flight in another direction, and Rudy's uncle knew naught of his danger until Rudy told him of it. As they now were on their way home in the gayest spirits, his uncle playing one of his youthful melodies on his flute, they suddenly heard not far from them a singular sound: they looked sideways, they gazed aloft, and saw high above them the Snow covering of the rugged shelf of the rock waving like an outspread piece of linen when agitated by the wind. The icy waves cracked like slabs of marble, they broke, -sº THE FATHER's BROTHER, 43 dissolved in foaming, rushing water, and sounded like a muffled thunder-clap. It was an avalanche rolling down, not over Rudy and his uncle, but near—only too near—to them. “Hold fast, Rudy,” cried he, “firm, with your whole strength !” . . And Rudy clasped the trunk of a tree; his uncle climbed into its branches and held fast, whilst the avalanche rolled many fathoms away from them. But the air- drift of the blustering storm, which ac- companied it, bowed down the trees and bushes around them like dry reeds and threw them beyond. Rudy lay cast on the earth; the trunk of the tree on which he had held was as though sawed off, and its crown was hurled still farther along. His uncle lay amongst the broken branches with his head shattered ; his hands were yet warm, but his face was no longer to be recognized. Rudy stood pale and trem- 44 THE FATHER's BROTHER.. bling: this was the first terror of his life the first hour of fear that he had ever known. Late in the evening, he returned with his message of death to his home, which was now one of sorrow. The wife stood without words, without tears; and not until the corpse was brought home did her sorrow find an outburst. The poor cretin crept to his bed and was not seen all day, but towards evening he came to Rudy, and said, “ Write a letter for me. Saperli cannot writel Saperli can take the letter to the post office.” “A letter for you?” asked Rudy; “and to whom 7” “To our Lord Christ ſ” “What do you mean?” And the half-witted creature gave a touching glance at Rudy, folded his hands, and said, piously and Solemnly, “Jesus Christ Saperli wishes to send him a letter THE FATHER's BROTHER. 45 zºº praying him to let Saperli lie dead, and not the man of this house !” And Rudy pressed his hand. “The letter cannot be sent: the letter will not give him back to us !” It was difficult for Rudy to explain the impossibility to him. - “Now you are the stay of the house !” said his foster-mother. And Rudy became it. 46 BABETTE. IV. #abºttº. fºLIO is the best shot in Cantom Valais ? The chamois knew only too well: “Beware of Rudy l’’ they could say. Who is the handsomest hunter? It is Rudy.” The young girls said this also; but they did not say, “Beware of Rudy 1" No, not even the grave mothers, for he nodded to them quite as amicably as to the young girls. He was so bold and gay, his cheeks were brown, his teeth fresh and white, and his coal-black eyes glittered : he was a handsome young fellow, and but twenty BABETTE. - 47 years old. The icy water did not sting him when he swam, he could turn around in it like a fish; he could climb as did no one, and he was as firm on the rocky walls as a snail, for he had good sinews and muscles that served him well in leaping; the cat had first taught him this, and later the chamois. One could not trust one's self to a better guide than to Rudy. In this way he could collect quite a fortune. But he had no taste for the trade of a cooper, which his uncle had taught him : his delight and pleasure was to shoot chamois; and this was profitable also. Rudy was a good match, if one did not look higher than one's station; and in dancing he was just the kind of dancer that young girls dream about, and one or the other were always thinking of him when they were awake. “He kissed me whilst dancing !” said the schoolmaster's Annette to her most 48 - BABETTE. intimate friend; but she should not have said this, not even to her dearest friend. But it is difficult to keep such things to one's self: like sand in a purse with a hole in it, it soon runs out; and although Rudy was so steady and good, it was soon known that he kissed while dancing. “Watch him,” said an old hunter: “he has commenced with A, and he will kiss the whole alphabet through !” A kiss, at a dance, was all they could say in their gossiping; but he had kissed Annette, and she was by no means the flower of his heart. - Down near Bex, between the great walnut-trees, close by a rapid little stream, dwelt the rich miller. The dwelling-house was a large three-storied building, with little towers covered with wood and coated with sheets of lead, which shone in the sunshine and in the moonshine ; the largest tower had for a weather-cock a BABETTE. 49 bright arrow which pierced an apple, and which was intended to represent the apple shot by Tell. The mill looked neat and comfortable, so that it was really worth describing and drawing; but the miller's daughter could neither be described nor drawn; at least so said Rudy. Yet she was imprinted in his heart, and her eyes acted as a firebrand upon it, and this had happened suddenly and unexpectedly. The most wonderful part of all was, that the miller's daughter, the pretty Babette, thought not of him; for she and Rudy had never even spoken two words with each other. The miller was rich, and riches placed her much too high to be approached. “But no one,” said Rudy to himself, “is placed so high as to be unapproachable: one must climb, and One does not fall when one does not think of it.” This 4 * - 50 - - BABETTE. knowledge he had brought from home with him. Now, it so happened that Rudy had business at Bex; and it was quite a journey there; for the railroad was not completed. The broad valley of Valais stretches itself from the glaciers of the Rhone, under the foot of the Simplon mountain, between many varying moun- tain-heights, with its mighty river, the Rhone, which often swells and destroys everything, overflowing fields and roads The valley makes a bend between the towns of Sion and St. Maurice, like an elbow, and becomes so narrow at Maurice that there only remains sufficient room for the river-bed and a cart-way. Here an old tower stands, like a sentry, beford the Canton Valais : it ends at this point and overlooks the bridge, which has a wall towards the custom-house. Now be gins the canton called Pays de Vaud; and BABETTE. . 51 the nearest town is Bex, where everything becomes luxuriant and fruitful: one is in a garden of walnut and chestnut trees, and here and there cypress and pomegranate blossoms peep out: it is as warm as the South: one imagines one's self transplanted into Italy. Rudy reached Bex, accomplished his business, and looked about him ; but he did not see a single miller's boy, not to speak of Babette. It appeared as though they were not to meet. - It was evening. The air was heavy with the wild thyme and blooming linden; a glistening veil lay over the forest-clad mountains; there was a stillness over everything, but not the quiet of sleep. It seemed as though all nature retained her breath, as if she felt disposed to allow her image to be imprinted upon the firmament. - Here and there were peles standing 52 BABETTE. on the green fields, between the trees they held the telegraph-wire, which has been conducted through this peaceful val- ley. An object leaned against one of these poles, so immovable that one might have taken it for a withered trunk of a tree; but it was Rudy. He slept not, and still less was he dead; but as the most important events of this earth, as well as affairs of vital moment for individuals, pass over the wires without their giving out a tone or a tremulous movement, even so flashed through Rudy thoughts, powerful, overwhelming, speaking of the happiness of his life-his henceforth “constant thought.” His eyes were fixed upon a point in the trellis-work; and this was a light in Ba- bette's sitting-room, Rudy was so motion- less, one might have thought that he was observing a chamois, in order to shoot it, Now, however, he was like the chamois– which appears sculptured on the rock, and ºr ºsmºs ºr “ ºsºt BABETTE. - 53 suddenly, if a stone rolls, springs and flies away. Thus stood Rudy, until a thought struck him. “Never despair,” said he. “I shall make a visit to the mill, and say, ‘Good evening, miller, good evening, Babette l' One does not fall when one does not think of it! Babette must see me, if I am to be her husband l’’ And Rudy laughed, was of good cheer, and went to the mill. He knew what he wanted : he wanted Babette. The river, with its yellowish-white water, - rolled on ; the willow-trees and the lindens bowed themselves deep in the hastening water. Rudy went along the path, and, as it says in the old child's song— “Zu des Müllers Haus, Aberda war Niemand drinnen Nur die Katze Schaute aus !” + * The cat looked out from the miller's hºuse : No One was in, not even a mouse ! 54 BABETTE. The house-cat stood on the step, put up her back, and said, “Miau !” but Rudy had no thoughts for her language. He knocked. No one heard, no one opened. “Miau !” said the cat. If Rudy had been little, he would have understood the speech of ani- mals, and known that the cat told him, “There is no one at home !” He was obliged to cross over to the mill, to make inquiries; and here he had news. The master of the house was away on a journey, far away in the town of Interlaken, inter lacus, “between the lakes,” as the school- master, Annette's father, had explained, in his wisdom. Far away was the miller, and Babette with him : there was to be a shoot- ing-festival, which was to commence on the following day and to continue for a whole week. The Swiss from all the German cantons were to meet there. - Poor Rudy I One could well say that he had not taken the happiest time to visit —w BABETTE. 55. Bex. Now he could return; and that was . what he did. He took the road over Sion and St. Maurice, back to his own valley, back to his own mountain ; but he was not downcast. On the following morning, when the Sun rose, his good humour had returned : in fact, it had never left him. “Babette is in Interlaken, many a day's journey from here !” said he to himself. “It is a long road thither if one goes by the highway, but not so far if one passes over the rocks; and that is the road for a chamois-hunter | I went this road formerly, for there is my home, where I lived with my grandfather when I was a little child. And they have a shooting-festival in Inter- laken I will be the first one there, and that will I be with Babette also, as soon as I have made her acquaintance l’’ With his light knapsack containing his Sunday clothes, with his gun and his hunts- man's pouch, Rudy ascended the mountain, 56 BABETTE. *—" . The short road was a pretty long one. But the shooting-match had but commenced to-day, and was to last more than a week; the miller and Babette were to remain the whole time, with their relations in Inter- laken. Rudy crossed the Gemmi, for he wished to go to Grindelwald. *. He stepped forward merry and well, out into the fresh, light mountain-air. The valley sank beneath him, the horizon widened; here and there a snow-peak, and soon appeared the whole shining white alpine chain. Rudy knew every snow mountain. Onward he strode towards the Schreckhorn, that elevates its white pow- dered snow-finger high in the air. At last he crossed the ridge of the mountain and the pasture-grounds and reached the valley of his home. The air was light and his spirits gay. Mountain and valley stood resplendent with verdure and flowers. His heart was filled with BABETTE. 57 youthful thoughts, that one can never grow old, never die, but live, rule, and enjoy. Free as a bird, light as a bird, was he The swallows flew by and Sang, as in his childhood, “We and you, and You and we ſ” All was happiness. Below lay the velvet-green meadow, with its brown wooden houses. The Lütschine hummed and roared. He saw the glacier with its green glass edges and its black crevices in the deep snow, and the under and upper glacier. The sound of the church-bells was carried over to him, as if they chimed a welcome home. His heart beat loudly and expanded, so that, for a moment, Babette vanished from it: his heart widened, it was so full of recol lections. He retraced his steps over the path where he used to stand, when a little boy, with the other children, on the edge of the ditch, and where he sold carved wooden houses. Yonder, under the fir, 58 - BABETTE. , trees, was his grandfather's house: stran- gers dwelt there. Children came running up the path, wishing to sell: one of them held an alpine rose towards him. Rudy took it for a good omen, and thought of Babette. Quickly he crossed the bridge where the two Lütschines meet; the leafy trees had increased, and the walnut-trees gave deeper shade. He saw the streaming . Swiss and Danish flags, the white cross on the red cloth, and Interlaken lay before him. It was certainly a magnificent town, like no other, it seemed to Rudy. A Swiss town in its Sunday dress was not like other trading-places, a mass of black stone houses, heavy, uninviting, and stiff. No! it looked as though the wooden houses on the mountain had run down into the green valley, to the clear, swift river, and had ranged themselves in a row, a little in and out, so as to form a street, the most BABETTE. 59 splendid of all streets, which had grown up since Rudy was here as a child. It appeared to him that here all the pretty wooden houses that his grandfather had carved, and with which the cupboard at home used to be filled, had placed them. selves there, and had grown in strength, as the old—the oldest—chestnut-trees had done. Each house had carved wood-work around the windows and balconies, pro- jecting roofs, pretty and neat. In front of every house a little flower-garden ex- tended into the stone-covered street. The houses were all placed on one side, as if they wished to conceal the forest-green meadow, where the cows with their tinkling bells made one fancy one's self near the high alpine pasture-grounds. The meadow was enclosed with high mountains, that leaned to one side so that the J ungfrau, the most stately of the Swiss mountains, with its glistening snow-clad top, was visible *— 60 w Bauerre. What a quantity of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen from foreign countriest What multitudes of inhabitants from the different cantons ! The shooters, with their numbers placed in a wreath around their hats, waiting to take their turn. Here were music and song, hurdy-gurdies and wind instruments, cries and confusion. The houses and bridges were decked with devices and verses; banners and flags floated, rifles sounded shot after shot: this was the best music to Rudy's ear, and he entirely forgot Babette, although he had come for her sake. The marksmen thronged towards the spot where the target-shooting was. Rudy was soon among them; and he was the best, the luckiest, for he always hit the mark. “Who can the strange hunter be 7” they asked. “He speaks the French lan- guage as though he came from Canton BABETTE. 61 Valais!” “He speaks our German very dis- tinctly l’” said others. “He is said to have lived in the neighbourhood of Grindelwald when a child !” said one of them. There was life in the youth: his eyes sparkled, his aim was true. Good luck gives courage, and Rudy had courage at all times. He soon had a large circle of friends around him : they praised him, they did homage to him, and Babette had almost entirely left his thoughts. At that moment a heavy hand struck him on the shoulder, and a gruff voice addressed him in the French tongue:— “You are from Canton Valais ?” Rudy turned around. A stout person, with a red, contented countenance, stood by him; and that was the rich miller of Bex. He covered with his wide body the slight, pretty Babette, who, however, soon peeped out with her beaming dark eyes. The rich peasant became consequential be 62 - BABETTE. cause the hunter from his canton had made the best shot and was the honoured one, Rudy was certainly a favourite of fortune: that for which he had journeyed thither and almost forgotten had sought him. When a compatriot is met at a distance from home, the heart warms to him, and recognizes him to be a friend. Rudy was the first at the shooting-festival, and the miller was the first at Bex, through his money and mill; and so the two men pressed each other's hands: this they had never done before. Babette, also gave Rudy her little hand, and he pressed hers in return and looked at her so—that she became quite red. The miller told of the long journey which they had made here, of the many large towns which they had seen: that was a real journey; they had come in the steamboat, and had been driven by post and rail! BABETTE. ‘. 60 “I came by the short road,” said Rudy: “I came over the mountains. There is no path so high that one can not reach it !” “But one can break one's neck,” said the miller. “You look as though you would do so some day, you are so daring !” “One does not fall when one does not think of it!” said Rudy. And the miller's family in Interlaken, with whom the miller and Babette were stay- ing, begged Rudy to pay them a visit; for he was from the same canton as their relations. These were glad tidings for Rudy. For- tune Smiled upon him, as it always does on those that rely upon themselves and think upon the saying, “Our Lord gives us nuts, but he does not crack them for us.” Rudy made himself quite at home with the miller's relations; they drank the health of the best marksman. Babette knocked her glass against his, and Rudy gave thanks for the honour shown him. ------- 64 BABETTE. In the evening, they all walked under the walnut-trees in front of the decorated hotels. There was such a crowd, such a throng, that Rudy was obliged to offe- his arm to Babette. “He was so rejoiced to have met people from Pays de Vaud,” said he “Pays de Vaud and Valais were good neighbourly cantons.” His joy was so profound that it struck Babette she must press his hand. They walked along almost like old acquaintances: she was so amusing-the darling little creature, -it became her so prettily, Rudy thought, when she described what was laughable and overdone in the dress of the ladies, and ridiculed their manners and walk. She did not do this in order to mock them, for no doubt they were very good people, —yes, kind and amiable. Babette knew what was right, for she had a godmother that was a distinguished English lady. She was in Bex eighteen years ago, when BABETTE. 65 Babette was baptized: she had given Babette the expensive breastpin which she wore. The godmother had written her two letters; this year she was to meet her in Interlaken, with her daughters; they were old maids, over thirty years old, said Babette: she was just eighteen. The sweet little mouth was not still a minute. Everything that Babette said sounded to Rudy of great importance. Then he related how often he had been in Bex, how well he knew the mill, how often he had seen Babette, but she of course had never remarked him; he told how, when he reached the mill, with many thoughts to which he could give no utter- ance, she and her father were far away,+ still not so far as to render it impossible for him to ascend the rocky wall which made the road so long. Yes, he said this; and he also said how much he thought of Ö her; that it was for 66 BABETTE. her sake, and not on account of the shoot- ing-festival, that he had come. Babette remained very still; for what he confided to her was almost too Inuch joy. - The sun set behind the rocky wall whilst they were walking, and there stood the Jungfrau, in all her radiant splendour, surrounded by the dark-green circle of the adjacent mountains. The vast crowd of people stopped to look at it. Rudy and Babette also gazed upon its grandeur. “It is nowhere more beautiful than here !” said Babette. “Nowhere !” said Rudy, and looked at Babette. “I must leave to-morrow,” said he, a little later. “Visit us in Bex,” whispered Babette : * it will delight my father.” HOMEWARDS. 67 V. jumtmät);, H! how much Rudy carried with - him as he went home the next º, morning over the mountains ! ºf Yes, there were three silver gob- lets, two very fine rifles, and a silver coffee-pot, which one could use if one wished to go to housekeeping; but he carried with him something far, far more important, far mightier, or, rather, that carried him over the high mountains. The weather was raw, moist, and cold, grey and heavy; the clouds lowered over the mountain-tops like mourning veils, - -- *. -** 6. HOMEWARDS. an enveloped the shining peaks of the rocks. The sound of the axe resounded from the depths of the forest, and the trunks of the trees rolled down the moun- tain, looking in the distance like slight sticks, but on approaching them they were heavy trees, suitable for making masts. The Lütschine rushed on with its monoto- nous sound, the wind blustered, the clouds sailed by. Suddenly a young girl approached Budy, whom he had not noticed before, not until she was beside him ; she also was about crossing the mountain. Her eyes had so peculiar power that one was forced to look into them,--they were SO strangely clear, clear as glass, so deep, so fathomless. “Have you a beloved one 7” asked Rudy; for to have a beloved one was everything to him. “I have none l’” said she, and laughed; HOMEWARDS. 69 but it was as though she was not speak- ing the truth. “Do not let us take a by- way,” continued she, “we must go more to the left; that way is shorter ſ” “Yes, so as to fall down a precipicel" said Rudy. “Do you know no better way, and yet wish to be a guide 7” “I know the road well,” said she. “My thoughts are with me; yours are beneath in the valley: here on high one must think on the Ice-Maiden, for they Say she is not well disposed to mankind ſ” “I do not fear her,” said Rudy: “she was forced to let me go when I was a child, so I suppose I can slip away from her now that I am older I" The darkness increased, the rain fell, the Snow came ; it shone and dazzled. “Give me your hand; I will help you to ascend l’” said the girl, and touched him with icy-cold fingers. “You help me?” said Rudy. “I do not yet need a woman's help in climb. sº- -º-º: 70 - HOMEWARDS. ing 1" He strode quickly on, away from her, The snow-shower formed a curtain around him, the wind whistled by him, and he heard the young girl laugh and sing: it sounded so oddly Yes, that was certainly a spirit in the service of the Ice-Maiden. - Rudy had heard of them when he had passed a night on high, when he had crossed the mountain, as a little boy. The snow fell more scantily, and the shadows lay under him. He looked back. There was no one to be seen; but he heard laughing and jodling, and it did not appear to come from a human being. When Rudy reached the uppermost por- tion of the mountain, where the rocky path leads to the valley of the Rhone, he saw, in the direction of Chamouni, two bright stars, twinkling and shining in the clear streaks of blue: he thought of Babette, of himself, of his happiness, and became warmed by his thoughts. THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 71 WI (ſº +\isit tº fºr ill. 44 . OU bring princely things into % the house !” said the old foster mother. Her singular eagle § eyes glistened, and she made strange and hasty motions with her lean neck. “Fortune is with you, Rudy. I must kiss you, my sweet boy l’’ Rudy allowed himself to be kissed; but one could read in his countenance that he but submitted to circumstances and to little household miseries. “How handsome you are, Rudy l’” said the old woman. rººs -* *-*. 72 THE VISIT TO THE MILI. ~& “Do not put notions into my head " answered Rudy, and laughed; but still it pleased him. “I say it once more,” said the old woman, “fortune is with you !” “Yes, I agree with you there !” said he: and he thought of Babette and longed to be in the deep valley. “They must have returned; two days have passed since they expected to do so. I must go to Bexl” Rudy went to Bex, and the inhabitants of the mill had returned. He was well received, and they brought him greetings from the family at Interlaken. Babette did not talk much ; she had grown silent; but her eyes spoke, and that was quite enough for Rudy. The miller, who gen- erally liked to carry on the conversation, —for he was accustomed to have every one laugh at his witty sayings and puns: was he not the rich miller?—seemed now to prefer to listen. Rudy recounted to THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 73 him his hunting-expeditions, described the difficulties, the dangers, and the privations of the chamois-hunter when on the lofty mountain-peak, how often he must climb over the insecure snow-ledges that the wind had blown on the rocky brink, and how he must pass over slight bridges that the snow-drifts had thrown across the abyss. Rudy looked fearless, his eyes sparkled, whilst he spoke of the shrewd- ness of the chamois, of their daring leaps, of the violence of the Föhm, and of the rolling avalanches. He observed that with every description he won more and more favour; but what pleased the miller more than all was the account of the lamb's vulture and the bold golden eagle. In Canton Valais, not far from here, there was an eagle's nest, very slyly built under the protecting edge of the rock; a young one was in 11, but no one could steal it! An Englishman had offered Rudy, a 74 THE WISIT TO THE MILL. few days before, a whole handful of gold if he would bring him the young one alive: “but everything has a limit,” said he ; “the young eagle cannot be taken away, and it would be madness to attempt it I’’ The wine and conversation flowed freely; but the evening appeared all too short for Rudy; yet it was past midnight when he went home from his first visit to the mill. The light shone a little while longer through the window and between the green trees. The parlour-cat came out of an opening in the roof, and the kitchen-cat came along the gutter. “Do you know the latest news at the mill?” said the parlour-cat. “There has been a silent betrothal in the house ! Father does not yet know it, but Rudy and Babette have reached each other their paws under the table, and he trod three times on my fore-paws; but still I THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 75 did not mew, for that would have awakened attention.” “I should have done it, nevertheless,” said the kitchen-cat. “What is suited to the kitchen is not suited to the parlour,” said the parlour-cat. “I should like to know what the miller will say when he hears of the betrothal!” Yes, what the miller would say ! That was what Rudy would have liked to know, for Rudy was not at all patient. When the omnibus rumbled over the bridge of the Rhone, between Valais and Pays de Vaud, not many days after, Rudy sat in it and was of good cheer, filled with pleasing thoughts of the “Yes” of the same evening. When evening came and the omnibus returned, yes, there sat Rudy within; but the parlour-cat was running about in the mill with great news. “Listen, you in the kitchen | The miller 76 THE VISIT TO THE MILL. knows everything now. This has had an exquisite ending ! Rudy came here towards evening. He and Babette had much to whisper and to chatter about, as they stood in the walk, under the miller's chamber. I lay close to their feet, but they had neither eyes nor thoughts for me. “I am going directly to your father,’ said Rudy: ‘this is an honourable affairl' ‘Shall I follow you?' asked Babette: “it may give you more courage l’ ‘I have courage enough,' said Rudy; “but if you are there he will be forced to look at it in a more favourable light !' They went in. Rudy trod heavily on my tail! Rudy is indes- eribably awkward; I mewed, but neither he nor Babette had ears to hear it. They opened the door; they entered, and I preceded them; I leaped upon the back of a chair, for I did not know but that Rudy would overturn everything! But the miller reversed all. That was a great THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 77 step I Out of the door, up the mountains, to the chamois! Rudy can aim at them now, but not at our little Babette ſ” “But what was said 7” asked the kitchen. Cat. sº - “Said? Everything. ‘I care for her, and she cares for me! When there is milk enough in the jug for one, there is milk enough in the jug for two l’ ‘But she is placed too high for you,' said the miller; ‘she sits on gold dust, so now you know it: you can not reach her l’ ‘Nothing is too high : he who wills can reach any- thing!' said Rudy. He is too headstrong on this subject ‘But you cannot reach the eaglet: you said so yourself, lately Babette is still higher ſ” “I will have them both !' said Rudy. “Yes, I will bestow her upon you if you make me a present of the eaglet aliveſ' said the miller, and laughed until the tears stood in his eyes. 78 THE VISIT TO THE MILL. “‘Thanks for your visit, Rudyl Come again to-morrow: you will find no one at home. Farewell, Rudy l’ Babette said farewell also, as sorrowfully as a kitten that cannot see its mother. “A word is a word, a man is a man,’ said Rudy: ‘do not weep, Babette; I shall bring the eaglet !” “I hope that you will break your neck!’ said the miller. That's what I call an overturning ! Now Rudy has gone, and Babette sits and weeps; but the miller sings in German,—he learned to do so whilst on his journey ! I do not intend to trouble myself any longer about it : it does no good l’’ “There is still a prospect l” said the kitchen-cat. THE EAGLE's NEST. 79 VII. Últ agº. §§t. ERRY and loud sounded the jodel from the mountain-path : it in- As' dicated good humour and joyous * courage. It was Rudy ; he was going to his friend Vesinand. “You must help me ! We will take Ragli with us; I am going after the eaglet on the brink of the rock l’’ “Do you not wish to go after the black spot in the moon? That is quite as easy,” said Wesinand: “you are in a good hu- mour !” - “Yes, because I am thinking of my 80 THE EAGLE's NEST. wedding; but, seriously, you shall know how my affairs stand l’’ Vesinand and Ragli soon knew what Rudy wished. - “You are a bold fellow,” said they. “Do not do this! You will break your neck l’” -- “One does not fall when one does not think of it!” said Rudy. About mid-day they set out, with poles, ladders, and ropes; their path lay through bushes and brambles, over the rolling stones, up, up in the dark night. The water rushed beneath them, the water flowed above them, and the humid clouds chased each other in the air. The hunters approached the steep brink of the rock; it became darker and darker; the rocky walls almost met; high above them in the narrow fissure the air penetrated and gave light. Under their feet there was a deep abyss with its roaring waters *† THE EAGLE'S NEST. 81 They all three sat still, awaiting the grey of the morning; then the eagle would fly out; they must shoot him before they could think of obtaining the young one. Rudy seemed to be a part of the stone on which he sat, his rifle placed before him, ready to take aim, his eyes immovably fastened on yon high cleft which concealed the eagle's nest. The three huntsmen waited long. A crashing, whizzing noise sounded high above them; a large hovering ob- ject darkened the air. Two rifle-barrels were aimed as the black eagle flew from its nest; a shot was heard, the outspread wings moved an instant, then the bird slowly sank, as if it wished to fill the entire cliff with its outstretched wings and bury the huntsmen in its fall. The eagle sank in the deep; the branches of the trees and bushes cracked, broken by the fall of the bird. 0. # 82 THE EAGLE'S NEST. They now displayed their activity, Three of the longest ladders were tied together; they stood them on the farthest point where the foot could place itself with security, close to the brink of the precipice-–but they were not long enough ; there was still a great space from the outermost projecting cliff, which protected the nest; the rocky wall was perfectly smooth. After some consulta- tion, they decided to lower into the opening two ladders tied together and to fasten them to the three already be. neath them. With great difficulty they dragged them up and attached them with cords; the ladders shot over the projecting cliffs and hung over the chasm ; Rudy sat already on the lowest round. It was an ice-cold morning, and the mist mounted from the black ravine Rudy sat there like a fly on a rocking blade of grass which a nest-building bird THE EAGLE'S NEST. 83 has dropped, in its hasty flight, on the edge of a factory-chimney; but the fly had the advantage of escaping by its wings, poor Rudy had none; he was almost sure to break his neck. The wind whistled around him, and the roaring water from the thawed glaciers—the palace of the Ice-Maiden—poured itself into the abyss. He gave the ladders a swinging mo- tion,--as the spider swings herself by her long thread, he seized them with a strong and steady hand; but they shook as if they had worn-out hasps. The five long ladders looked like a tremulous reed, as they reached the nest and hung perpendicularly over the rocky wall. Now came the most dangerous part: Rudy had to climb as a cat climbs; but Rudy could do this, for the cat had taught it to him. He did not feel that Vertigo trod in the air behind him and 84 THE EAGLE's NEST. stretched her polypuslike arms towards him, Now he stood on the highest round of the ladder, and perceived that he was not sufficiently high to enable him to see into the nest : he could reach it with his hands. He tried how firm the twigs were, which, plaited in one another, formed the bottom of the nest : when he had assured himself of a thick and im- movable one, he swung himself off of the ladder. He had his breast and head over the nest, out of which streamed towards him a stifling stench of carrion; torn lambs, chamois, and birds lay de- composing around him. Vertigo, who had no power over him, blew poisonous vapours into his face to stupefy him ; below in the black, yawning abyss sat the Ice-Maiden herself, on the hastening water, with her long greenish-white hair and stared at him with death-like eyes which were pointed at him like two rifle barrels. - THE EAGLE's NEST. 85 “Now I shall catch you !” Seated in one corner of the eagle's nest was the eaglet, who could not fly yet, although so strong and powerful. Rudy fastened his eyes on it, held himself with his whole strength firmly by one hand, and with the other threw the noose around it. It was captured alive, its legs were in the knot; Rudy cast the rope over his shoulder, so that the animal dangled some distance below him, and sustained himself by another rope which hung down, until his feet touched the upper round of the ladder. “Hold fast; do not think that you will fall, and then you are sure not to do so I’’ That was the old lesson, and he followed 1t,-held fast, climbed, was sure not to fall, and he did not. There resounded a strong jodling, and a joyous one too. Rudy stood on the firm, rocky ground with the young eaglet. 86 THE NEWS WHICH THE VIII. (ſlºt #105 with tº ºutlºur-dat ºtlatch. 44 ERE is what you demanded !” #) said Rudy, on entering the house of the miller at Bex, as * he placed a large basket on the floor and took off the covering. Two yellow eyes, with black circles around them, fiery and wild, looked out as if they wished to set on fire or to kill those around them. The short beak yawned, ready to bite, and the neck was red and downy. “The eaglet !” cried the miller. Babette screamed, jumped to one side, and could neither turn her eyes from Rudy, nor from the eaglet. PARLOUR-CAT RELATED. 87 * “You do not allow yourself to be frightened ſ” said the miller. ‘And you keep your word, at all times,’ said Rudy: “each has his characteristic trait !” “But why did you not break your neck?” asked the miller. * * “Because I held on firmly,” answered Rudy; “and I hold firmly on Babette ſ” “First see that you have her ſ” said the } miller, and laughed: that was a good sign; Babette knew this. “Let us take the eaglet from the basket. It is terrible to see how he glares! How did you get him 7” Rudy was obliged to recount his adven- ture, whilst the miller stared at him with eyes which grew larger and larger. “With your courage and with your luck you could take care of three wives!” said the miller. “Thanks! thanks!” cried Rudy. -*. 88 THE NEWS WHICH THE “Yes, but you have not yet Babette!" said the miller, as he struck the young chamois-hunter jestingly on the shoulder. “Do you know the latest news in the mill?” said the parlour-cat to the kitchen- cat. “Rudy has brought us the young eagle and taken Babette in exchange. They have kissed each other, and the father looked on. That is just as good as a be- trothal. The old man did not overturn anything: he drew in his claws, took his nap, and left the two seated, caressing each other. They have so much to relate, they will not get through till Christmas!” They had not finished at Christmas. The wind whistled through the brown foliage, the snow swept through the valley as it did on the high mountains. The Ice- Maiden sat in her proud castle and arrayed herself in her winter costume; the ice-walls stood in glazed frost; where the mountain- streams waved their watery veil in summer ſ | * } PARLOUR-CAT RELATED. 89 were now seen thick elephantine icicles; shining garlands of ice, formed of fantastic ice-crystals, encircled the fir-trees, which were powdered with snow. The Ice-Maiden rode on the blustering wind over the deepest valleys. The snow covering lay over all Bex. Rudy stayed in-doors more than was his wont, and sat with Babette. The wedding was to take place in the summer, their friends talked So much of it that it often made their ears burn. All was sunshine with them, and the loveliest alpine rose was Babette, the sprightly, laughing Babette, who was as charming as the early spring, — the spring that makes the birds sing, that will bring the summer-time and the wed. ding-day. “How can they sit there and hang over each other?” exclaimed the parlour-cat. “I am really tired of their eternal mewing!” 90 - THE ICE-MAIDEN. DX. Öſt ſt-ºffaintſ. HE early spring-time had unfolded the green leaves of the walnut and chestnut trees; they were remark. ably luxuriant from the bridge of . St. Maurice to the banks of the Lake of Geneva. * The Rhone, which rushes forth from its source, has under the green glacier the palace of the Ice-Maiden. She is carried by it and the sharp wind to the elevated snow-fields, where she extends herself on her damp cushions in the brilliant sunshine. There she sits and gazes, with far seeing sight, upon the valley, where mortals busily move about like so many ants. THE ICE-MAIDEN. 91 “Beings endowed with mental powers, as the children of the Sun call you,” said the Ice-Maiden, “ye are worms! One snow. ball rolled, and you and your houses and towns are crushed and swept away !” She raised her proud head still higher, and looked with death-beaming eyes far around and below her. From the valley resounded a rumbling, a blasting of rocks; men were making railways and tunnels. “They are playing like moles,” said she ; “they exca- vate passages, and a noise is made like the firing of a gun. When I transpose my - castles, it roars louder than the rolling of the thunder " A smoke arose from the valley and moved along like a floating veil, like a waving plume: it was the locomotive which led the train over the newly built railroad, this crooked snake, whose limbs are formed of cars upon cars. It shot along with the speed of an arrow. {{ They are playing the masters with º 92 THE ICE-MAIDEN. their mental powers,” said the Ice-Maiden; “but the powers of nature are the ruling ones ſ” and she laughed, and her laugh was echoed in the valley. “Now an avalanche is rolling !” said the men below. Still more loudly sang the children of the Sun; they sang of the “thoughts” of men, which fetter the sea to the yoke, cut down mountains, and fill up valleys, -of human thoughts, which rule the powers of nature. At this moment a company of travellers crossed the snow-field where the Maiden sat; they had bound them- selves firmly together with ropes, in order to form a large body on the smooth ice- field by the deep abyss. “Worms ſ” said she, “as if you were lords of creation ſ” She turned from them and looked mockingly upon the deep valley, where the cars were rushing by. “There sit those thoughts in their power THE ICE-MAIDEN. 93 of strength ! I see them all!—There sits one, proud as a king and alonel They sit in masses! There, half are asleep When the steam-dragon stops, they will descend and go their way ! The thoughts go out into the world !” She laughed. “There rolls another avalancheſ” they said in the valley. “It will not catch us!” said two on the back of the steam dragon-" two souls and one thought:” these were Rudy and Babette; the miller was there also. “As baggage,” said he, “I go along, as the indispensable ſ” “There sit the two,” said the Ice- Maiden. “I have crushed many a cha- mois; I have bent and broken millions of alpine roses, so that no roots were left I shall annihilate them / The thoughts The mental powers!” She laughed. “There rolls ancther avalancheſ” they said in the valley. 94 THE GODMOTHER. X. (ſºt (Églimptºtr. N Montreux, one of the adjoining § towns, which with Clarens, Wernex, the northeast part of the Lake of Geneva, dwelt Babette's godmother, a distinguished English lady, with her daughters and a young relation. Although she had but lately arrived, the miller had already made her his visit and announced & and Crin forms a garland around Babette's engagement, had spoken of Rudy and the eaglet, of the visit to Interlaken, and, in short, had told the whole story. This had rejoiced her in THE GODMOTHER. 95 the highest degree, both for Rudy and Babette's sake, as well as for the miller's; they must all visit her; therefore they came. Babette was to see her godmother, and the godmother was to see Babette. At the end of the Lake of Geneva, by the little town of Willeneuve, lay the steamboat which after half an hour's trip from Wernex arrived at Montreux. This is one of the coasts which are sung of by the poets. Here sat Byron, by the deep bluish-green lake, under the walnut-trees, and wrote his melodious verses upon the prisoner of the deep sombre castle of Chillon. Here, where Clarens with its weeping willows mirrored itself in the waters, once wandered Rousseau and dreamt of Heloïse. Yonder, where the Rhone glides along under Savoy's snow- topped mountains, and not far from its mouth, in the lake lies a little island; indeed, it is so small that from the coast 96 THE GODMOTHER. it is taken for a vessel. It is a valley between the rocks, which a lady caused to be dammed up a hundred years ago and to be covered with earth and planted with three acacia-trees, which now shade the whole island. Babette was quite charmed with this little spot; they must and should go there, yes, it must be charming beyond description to be on the island; but the steamer sailed by, and stopped, as it should, at Wernex. The little party wandered between the white, sunlighted walls which surround the vineyards of the little mountain town of Montreux, through the fig-trees which flourish before every peasant's house and in whose gardens the laurel and cypress trees are green. Half-way up the hill stood the boarding-house where the god- mother resided. The reception was very cordial. The godmother was a large, amiable person, THE GODMOTHER. 97 –º and had a round, smiling countenance, as a child she must have had a real Raphael's angel head, but now it was an old angel's head, with silvery white hair, well curled. The daughters were tall, slender, refined, and much dressed. The young cousin who was with them was clad in white from head to foot; he had golden hair and immense whiskers. He immediately showed little Babette the greatest attention. Richly bound books, loose music and drawings, lay strewn about the large table; the balcony door stood open, and * * * * * re. * * * * * one had a view of the beautiful outspread ...' lake, which was so shining, so still, that the mountains of Savoy, with their little villages, their forests and their snowy peaks, mirrored themselves in it. Rudy, who usually was so full of life so merry, and so daring, did not feel in his element; he moyed about over the * 98 TEIE GODMOTHER. *. smooth floor as though he were treading on peas. How wearily the time dragged along l it was just as if one was in a treadmill! If they did go walking, why that was just as slow : Rudy could take two steps forwards and two steps back- •e e e º & * * * * * wards and still remain in the pace of the others. • When they came to Chillon (the old sombre castle on the rocky island) they entered in order to see the dungeon and º, the martyr's stake, as well as the rusty ...: chains on the wall, the stone bed for ... those condemned to death, and the trap- door where the wretched beings impaled on iron goads were hurled into the break- ers. It was a place of execution elevated through Byron's song to the world of poetry. Rudy was sad; he leaned over the broad stone sill of the window, gazed into the deep blue water and over to the little solitary island with its three acacias THE GODMOTHER. 99 and wished himself there, free from the whole gossiping Society. Babette was re markably merry; she had been indes. cribably amused. The cousin found her perfect. “He is a perfect jackanapes I" said Rudy. This was the first time that he had said something that did not please her. The Englishman had presented her with a little book, as a souvenir of Chillon, — in the French language, so that Babetteº. might read it. - “The book may be good,” said Rudy, ... . . “but the finely combed fellow that gave . it to you does not please me !” “He looked like a meal-bag without meal in it !” said the miller, and laughed at his own wit. Rudy laughed, and thought that this was very well said. 100 THE COUSIN. XI. Últ (ſmsin. HEN Rudy came to the mill, a Hy couple of days afterwards, he found • *.*.*.* the young Englishman there. Ba- ..º. bette had just cooked some trout º for him, and had dressed them with "...parsley in order to make them appear more “inviting. That was assuredly not neces- sary. What did the Englishman want here 2 Did he come in order to have Babette entertain and wait upon him 7 Rudy was jealous; and that amused Babette; it rejoiced her to learn the feel. ings of his heart the strong as well as the weak ones. THE COUSIN. -- 101 Until now love had been a play, and she played with Rudy's whole heart; yet he was her happiness, her life's thought, the noblest one ! The more gloomy he looked, the more her eyes laughed; and she would have liked to kiss the blonde Englishman with his golden whiskers, if she could have succeeded by so doing in making Rudy rush away furious. Then, yes, then she would have known how much he loved her. That was not right, that was not wise, in little Babette; but she was only nine- teen 1 She did not reflect; and still less did * she think how her behaviour towards the . young Englishman might be interpreted; for it was lighter and merrier than was seemly for the honourable and newly affi. anced daughter of the miller. The mill lay where the highway slopes— under the snow-covered rocky heights— which are called here, in the language of the country, “Diablerets”—close to a rapid 102 g THE COUSIN. mountain stream, which was of a greyish white, like bubbling soapsuds. A smaller stream rushes forth from the rocks on the other side of the river, passes through an enclosed, broad, raft-made gutter, and turns the large wheel of the mill. The gutter was so full of water that it streamed over and offered a most slippery way to one who had the idea of crossing more quickly to the mill. A young man had this idea—the Englishman. Guided by the light, which shown from Babette's window, …he arrived in the evening, clothed in white, •º-like a miller's boy. He had not learned ...: to climb, and nearly tumbled head over 3.3 heels into the stream, but escaped with ... wet sleeves and splashed pantaloons. He reached Babette's window, muddy and wet through; there he climbed into the old linden-tree and imitated the screech of an owl, for he could not sing like any other bird. Babette heard it, and peeped TEIE COUSIN. 103 **- through the thin curtains; but when she remarked the white man and recognized him, her little heart fluttered with alarm, but also with anger. She hastily extin- guished the light, fastened the windows securely, and then she let him howl, Had Rudy been in the mill it would have been dreadful. But Rudy was not there: no, it was much worse, for he was below. There was loud conversation, angry words; there might be blows, yes, perhaps murder. Babette was terrified. She opened the window, called Rudy's name, and begged him to go; she said she would not suffer him to remain. - “You will not suffer me to remain l’’ he exclaimed. “Then it is a preconcerted thing ! You were expecting other friends, friends better than myself. Shame on you, Babettel" 104 THE COUSIN. “You are detestable !” said Babette. “I hate you!” And she wept. “Go l go!” “I have not deserved this ſ” said he, and departed. His cheeks burned like fire, his heart burned like fire. Babette threw herself on her bed and wept. “So much as I love you, Rudy, how can you believe ill of me?” She was angry, very angry; and this was good for her: otherwise she would have sorrowed deeply, but now she could sleep; and she slept the strengthening sleep of youth. THE EVIL Powers. 105 XII. Wºº (fºil ºnſtrº. way home, in the fresh, cool air, up the snow-covered mountain, g where the Ice-Maiden ruled. The leafy trees which lay beneath him looked like potato-vines; fir-trees and bushes became less frequent; the alpine roses grew in the snow, which lay in little spots like linen put out to bleach. There stood a blue anemone. He crushed it with the stock of his gun. Higher up, two chamois appeared, and Rudy's eyes gained lustre and his thoughts 3: forsook Bex and went on his 106 THE EVIL POWERS. took a new direction; but he was not near enough to make a good shot. He ascended still higher, where only stiff grass grows between the blocks of stone; the chamois were quietly crossing the snow-field. He hurried hastily on; the fog was descending and he suddenly stood before the steep rocky wall. The rain commenced to fall. He felt a burning thirst-heat in his head, cold in all his limbs. He grasped his hunting-flask, but it was empty: he had not thought of filling it when he rushed up the hill. He had never been ill, but now he was so; he was weary, and had a desire to throw himself down to sleep; but every- thing was streaming with water. He en- deavoured to collect his ideas; but all objects danced before his eyes. Suddenly he perceived a newly-built house leaning against the rocks, and in the doorway stood a young girl. Yes, it appeared to him that it was the schoolmaster's Annette, whom ho THE EVIL POWERS. 107 had once kissed whilst dancing; but it was not Annette; and yet he had seen her before —perhaps in Grindelwald, on the evening when he returned from the shoot ing-festival at Interlaken. “Where do you come from ?” asked he. “I am at home,” said she. “I tend my flock.” “Your flock | Where do they pasture? Here are only cliffs and snow.” ‘You have a ready answer,” said she, and laughed; “below there is a charming ,” meadow ! There are my goats | I take good care of them | I lose none of them. What is mine remains mine !” “You are bold,” said Rudy. “So are you,” answered she. “Have you any milk? Do give me Bome: my thirst is intolerable l’” > “I have something better than milk,” said she, “and you shall have it ! Travel. lers came yesterday with their guide, but 108 THE EWIL POWERS. they forgot a flask of wine, such as you have never tasted; they will not come for it, I shall not drink it: so drink you!” She brought the wine, poured it in a Wooden cup, and handed it to Rudy. “That is good,” said he ; “I have never drunk such a warming, such a fiery wine !” His eyes beamed; a life, a glow, came over him ; all sorrow and oppression seemed to die away; gushing, fresh human nature stirred itself within him. “Why, this is the schoolmaster's An- nette,” exclaimed he. “Give me a kiss l’” “Yes, give me the beautiful ring which you wear on your finger l’ “My engagement-ring 7” “Just that one l’” said the young girl, and, pouring wine into the cup, put it to his lips, and he drank. Then the joy of life streamed in his blood ; the whole world seemed to belong to him. “Why torment one's self? Every thing is made THE EVIL PowRRs. 109 for our enjoyment and happiness! The stream of life is the stream of joy, and forgetfulness is felicity 1" He looked at the young girl: it was Annette, and then again not Annette, still less an enchanted phantom, as he had named her when he met her near Grindelwald. The girl on the mountain was fresh as the newly fallen Snow, blooming as the alpine rose, and light as a kid, and a human being like Rudy. He wound his arm about her, looked in her strange clear eyes, yes, only for a second,-but was it spiritual life, or was it death, which flowed through him? Was he raised on high, or did he sink into the deep, murderous ice-pit deeper and ever deeper? He saw icy walls like bluish-green glass, numberless clefts yawned around, and the water sounded, as it dropped, like a chime of bells; it was pearly, clear, and shone in bluish- white flames. The Ice-Maiden gave him 110 THE EVIL PoweRs. a kiss, which made him shiver from head to foot, and he gave a cry of pain. He staggered and fell; it grew dark before his eyes, but soon all became clear to him again : the evil powers had had their sport with him. The alpine maiden had vanished, the mountain hut had vanished, the water beat against the bare rocky walls, and all around him lay snow. Rudy, wet to the skin, trembled from cold; and his ring had disappeared,—his engagement-ring, which Babette had given him. He tried to fire off his rifle, which lay near him in the snow; but it missed. Humid clouds lay in the clefts, like firm masses of Snow, and Vertigo watched for her powerless prey; beneath him in the deep chasm it sounded as if a block of the rock was rolling down and was endeavouring to crush and tear up all that met it in its fall. TEIR, EVIT, POWERS. 111 In the mill sat Babette and wept : Rudy had not been there for six days, he who had been so wrong-he who must beg her forgiveness, because she loved Him with her whole heart. 112 IN THE MILLER'S HOUSſ. XIII. §m tº #illet's juſt. & 4 HAT confusion ſ” said the par Hy lour-cat to the kitchen-cat. “Now all is wrong between * Rudy and Babette. She sits and weeps; and he thinks no longer on her, I suppose.” “I cannot bear it !” said the kitchen-cat. “Nor I,” said the parlour-cat; “but I shall not worry myself any longer about it l Babette can take the red-whiskered one for a dear one; but he has not been here, either, since he tried to get on the roof!” Within and without, the evil powers ----- - IN THE MILLER'S HOUSE. 113 ruled; and Rudy knew this, and reflected upon what had taken place both around and within him whilst upon the mountain Were those faces, or was all a feverish dream 2 He had never known fever or sickness before. Whilst he condemned Babette, he also condemned himself. He thought of the wild, wicked feelings which had lately possessed him. Could he con. fess everything to Babette 7 Every thought. which in the hour of temptation might have become a reality? He had lost hel ring; and by this loss had she won him back? Could she confess to him 7 It seemed as if his hearts would break when he thought of her, so many recollections passed through his soul. He saw her a lively, laughing, petulant child; many a loving word, which she had said to him in the fulness of her heart, shot like a sun beam through his breast, and soon all there was sunshine for Babette. - th **** *... 114 IN THE MILLER's House. She must be able to confess to him, and she should do so. He came to the mill, he came to confes- sion; and this commenced with a kiss, and ended with the fact that Rudy was the sinner; his great fault was, that he had doubted Babette's fidelity; yes, that was indeed atrocious in him Such mistrust, such violence, could bring them both into misfortune 1 Yes, most surely Thereupon Babette preached him a little sermon, which much diverted her and became her charmingly: On one point Rudy was quite right; the godmother's relation was a jack- anapes | She should burn the book that he had given her, and not possess the slightest object which could remind her of him. “Now it is all arranged,” said the parlour-cat: “Rudy is here again, they understand each other, and that is a great happiness ſ” *— IN THE MILLER's HOUSE. 115 “Last night,” said the kitchen-cat, “I heard the rats say that the greatest happi- ness was to eat tallow candles, and to have abundance of tainted meat. Now, whom must one believe, the rats or the lovers?” “Neither of them,” said the parlour-cat, “that is the surest way!” The greatest happiness for Rudy and Babette was drawing near; they were awaiting, so they said, their happiest day, their wedding-day. But the wedding was not to be in the church of Bex, nor in the miller's house; the godmother wished it to be solemnized near her, and the marriage ceremony was to take place in the beautiful little church of Montreux. The miller insisted that her desire should be fulfilled; he alone knew what the godmother intended for the young couple; they were to receive a bridal pre- sent from her, which was well worth so slight a concession. The day was ap. 116 IN THE MILLER's Hous E. ~~ pointed. They were to leave for Wille neuve in time to arrive at Montreux early in the morning, and so enable the god- mother's daughters to dress the bride. “Then I suppose there will be a wed. ding here in the house on the following day,” said the parlour-cat ; “otherwise, I would not give a single mew for the whole thing !” “There will be a feast here,” said the kitchen-cat : “the ducks are slain, the pigeons' necks wrung, and a whole deer hangs on the wall. My teeth itch just with looking on 1 To-morrow the journey commences !” Yes, to-morrow I Rudy and Babette sat together for the last time in the mill. Without was the alpine glow; the eve. ning bells pealed ; the daughters of the Sun sang, “What is for the best will take place " THE VISIONs of THE NIGHT. 117 XIV. ‘It #isims ºf the #ight. ŻyłIE sun had gone down; the clouds 5 lowered themselves into the Rhone yº, valley, between the high moun- tains; the wind blew from the South over the mountains,—an African wind, a Föhn, which tore the clouds asunder. When the wind had - passed, all was for an instant still. The parted clouds hung in fantastic forms between the forest-grown mountains. Over the hastening Rhone, their shapes resem- bled sea-monsters of the primeval world, Soaring eagles of the air and leaping frogs 118 THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT. *-* of the ditches; they seemed to sink into the rapid stream and to sail on the river yet they still floated in the air. The stream carried away a pine-tree, torn up by the roots; and the water sent whirl- pools ahead: this was Vertigo, with her attendants, and they danced in circles on the foaming stream. The moon shone on the snow of the mountain-peaks; it lighted up the dark forest and the singular white clouds; the peasants of the mountain saw through their window - panes the nightly apparitions and the spirits of the powers of nature, as they sailed before the Ice- Maiden. She came from her glacier castle, she sat in a frail bark—a felled fir-tree; the water of the glaciers carried her down the stream out to the main sea. “The wedding guests are coming !” was whizzed and sung in the air and in the Water. Visions without and visions within - THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT. 119 Babette dreamt a wonderful dream. It appeared to her as though she was married to Rudy, and had been so for many years. He had gone chamois-hunt. ing; and as she sat at home, the young Englishman with the golden whiskers was beside her; his eyes were fiery, his words seemed endowed with magical power; he reached her his hand, and she was obliged to follow him. They flew from home. Always down- wards. A weight lay upon her heart, and it grew ever heavier. It was a sin against Rudy, a sin against God. Suddenly she stood forsaken. Her clothes were torn by the thorns; her hair had grown grey. She looked up in her sorrow, and she saw Rudy on the edge of the rock. She stretched her arms out toward him, but she ventured neither to call nor to implore him. She soon saw that it was not he him. * *s *. * * 120 THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT. self, but only his hunting coat and hat which were hanging on his alpine staff, as the hunters are accustomed to place them in order to deceive the chamois Babette moaned, in boundless anguish,_ “Ah! would that I had died on my wedding-day, my happiest day! O my heavenly Father that would have been a mercy, a life's happiness l Then we would have obtained the best that could have happened to us! No one knows his future 1" In her impious sorrow, she threw herself down the steep precipice. It seemed as if a string broke, and a sorrowful tone resounded. Babette awoke; the dream was at an end and obliterated; but she knew that she had dreamt of something terrible, and of the young Englishman, whom she had neither seen nor thought of for many months. Was he perhaps in Montreux?. Should she see him at her wedding? A THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT. 121 slight shadow flitted over her delicate mouth, her brow contracted; her smile soon returned; her eyes sparkled again; the sun shone so beautfully without, and to- morrow, yes, to-morrow was to be her and Rudy's wedding - day. Rudy had already arrived when she came down stairs, and they soon left for Villeneuve. They were both so happy, and the miller also ; he laughed and was radiant with joy: he was a good father, an honest Soul. “Now we are the masters of the house !” said the parlour-cat. i22 CONCLUSION. XV. (ſmtliºiſm, T was not yet night when the three § joyous people reached Willeneuve and took their dinner. The miller seated º himself in an arm-chair with his pipe and took a little nap. The betrothed went out of the town arm in arm, out on the carriage-way, under the bush-grown rocks, to the deep bluish-green lake. Sombre Chillon, with its grey walls and heavy towers, mirrored itself in the clear water; but still nearer lay the little island, with its three acacias, and it looked like a bouquet on the lake. CONCLUSION. 128 “How charming it must be there !” said Babette. She felt again the greatest desire to visit it, and this wish could be immedi- ately gratified; for a boat lay on the shore, and the rope, which fastened it, was easy to untie. As no one was visible, from whom they could ask permission, they took the boat without hesitation; for Rudy could row well. The oars skimmed, like the fins of a fish, over the pliant water, which is so yielding and still so resistant; which is all back to carry, all mouth to ingulf; which Smiles—yes, is gentleness itself—and still awakens terror, and is so powerful in destroying. The rapid current soon brought the boat to the island; they stepped on land. There was just room enough for the two to dance. Rudy swung Babette three times around, and then they seated themselves on the little bench, under the acacias, looked into each other's eyes held each other by the ~ * v- , 124 CONCLUSION. hand, and everything around them shone in the splendour of the setting sun. The forests of fir-trees on the mountains be- came of a pinkish lilac aspect, the colour of blooming heath, and where the bare rocks were apparent, they glowed as if they were transparent. The clouds in the sky were radiant with a red glow ; the whole lake was like a fresh flaming rose- leaf. As the shadows arose to the snow- covered mountains of Savoy, they became dark blue; but the uppermost peak seemed like red lava, and pointed out for a moment the whole range of mountains, whose masses arose glowing from the bosom of the earth. It seemed to Rudy and Babette that they had never seen such an alpine glow. The snow-covered Dent-iu-Midi had a lustre like the full moon when it rises to the horizon. * *—- -- a ------- CONCLUSION. 125 “So much beauty, so much happiness!” they both said. “Earth can give me no more,” said Rudy. “An evening hour like this is a whole life! How often have I felt as now, and thought that if everything should end suddenly, how happily have I lived How blessed is this world ! The day ended, a new one dawned, and I felt that it was still more beautiful How bountiful is our Lord, Babette!” “I am so happy ſ” said she. “Earth can give me no more ſ” ex- claimed Rudy. The evening bells resounded from the Savoy and Swiss mountains; the bluish- black Jura arose in golden splendour to- wards the west. “God give you that which is most ex- cellent and best, Rudy ſ” said Babette. “He will do that,” answered Rudy: “to-morrow I shall have it! To-morrow 126 CONCLUSION. * * * you will be entirely mine ! Mine own, little, lovely wife ſ” “The boat l” cried Babette at the same moment, The boat, which was to convey them back, had broken loose, and was floating away from the island. “I will go for it !” said Rudy. He threw off his coat, drew off his boots, sprang into the lake, and swam towards the boat. The clear, bluish-grey water of the ice- mountains was cold and deep. Rudy gave but a single glance, and it seemed as though he saw a gold ring, rolling, shining, and sporting, he thought on his lost engagement-ring, -and the ring grew larger, widened into a sparkling circle, and within it shone the clear glacier; all about yawned endless deep chasms; the water dropped and sounded like a chime of bells, and shone with bluish-white flames, He saw in a second what we must say in CONCLUSION. 127 many long words. Young hunters and young girls, men and women, who had once perished in the glacier, stood there living, with open eyes and smiling mouth; deep below them chimed from buried towns the peal of church-bells; under the arches of the churches knelt the congregation; pieces of ice formed the organ-pipes, and the mountain-stream played the organ. On the clear transparent ground sat the Ice- Maiden; she raised herself up towards Rudy, kissed his feet, and the coldness of death ran through his limbs and gave him an electric shock,-ice and fire. He could not perceive the difference. “Mine, mine !” sounded around him and within him. “I kissed you when you were young- kissed you on your lips | Now T kiss your feet; you are entirely mine !” He vanished in the clear blue water. Everything was still ; the church-bells 128 CONCLUSION. stopped ringing; the last tones died away with the splendour of the red clouds. “You are mine !” sounded in the deep “You are mine !” sounded from on high from the Infinite. How happy to fly from love to love, from earth to heaven! A string broke, a cry of grief was heard; the icy kiss of death conquered; the prelude ended; so that the drama of life might commence, discord melted into harmony.— Do you call this a sad story? Poor Babette I For her it was a period of anguish. - The boat drifted farther and farther. No one on shore knew that the lovers were on the island. The evening dark- ened, the clouds lowered themselves, night came. She stood there, Solitary, despairing moaning. A flash of lightning passed over the Jura mountains, over Switzerland, and *.' * . CONCLUSION. 129 over Savoy. From all sides flash upon flash of lightning, clap upon clap of thunder which rolled continuously many minutes, At times the lightning was vivid as sun- shine, and you could distinguish the grape- vines; then all became black again in the dark night. The lightning formed knots, ties, zigzags, complicated figures; it struck in the lake, so that it lit it up on all sides; whilst the noise of the thunder was made louder by the echo. The boat was drawn on shore; all living objects sought shelter. Now the rain poured down. “Where can Rudy and Babette be in this frightful weather l’” said the miller. Babette sat with folded hands, with her head in her lap, mute with sorrow, from screaming and bewailing. - “In the deep water,” said she to herself “he is as far down as the glaciers!” She remembered what Rudy had related to her of his mother; death, of his preser- 180 CONCLUSION. vation, and how he was withdrawn, death- like, from the clefts of the glacier. “The Ice-Maiden has him again l’” There was a flash of lightning, as daz zling as the sunlight on the white snow. Babette started up. At this instant, the sea rose like a glittering glacier; there stood the Ice-Maiden, majestic, pale, blue, shining, and at her feet lay Rudy's corpse. “Mine !” said she, and then all around was fog and night and streaming Water. “Cruel,” moaned Babette, “why must he die, now that the day of our happiness approached 7 God! Enlighten my under- standing ! Enlighten my heart 1 I do not understand thy ways! Notwithstanding all thy omnipotence and wisdom, I still grope in darkness.” God enlightened her heart. A thought, like a ray of mercy, her last night's dream in all its vividness flashed through her; she remembered the words which she had . ConCLUSION. 181 spoken. “the wish for the best for herself and Rudy.” “Woe is me ! Was that the sinful seed in my heart? Did my dream foretell my future life? Is all this misery for my sal- vation? Me, miserable one !” Lamenting she sat in the dark night. In the solemn stillness sounded Rudy's last words,-the last ones he uttered: “Earth has no more happiness to give me!” She had heard it in the fulness of her joy, she heard it again in all the - depths of her sorrow. * * * * * * * A couple of years have passed since then. The lake smiles, the coast smiles; the vine-branches are filled with ripe grapes; the steamboats glide along with waving flags, and the pleasure-boats float over the watery mirror, with their two expanded sails like white butterflies. The railroad to Chillon is opened ; it leads into 182 - concLUSION. * -.º. the Rhone valley; strangers alight at every ſ station; they arrive with their red-covered guide-books and read of remarkable sights which are to be seen. They visit Chillon, they stand upon the little island, with its three acacias, out on the lake, and they read in the book about the betrothed ones who sailed over one evening in the year 1856: of the death of the bridegroom, and, “it was not till the next morning that the despairing shrieks of the bride ‘were heard on the coast !” - The book does not tell, however, of Babette's quiet life with her father; not in the mill, where strangers now dwell, but in the beautiful house near the rail: way station. There she looks from the window many an evening and gazes over the chestnut-trees, upon the Snow moun- tains where Rudy once climbed. She sees in the evening hours the alpine glow ; the children of the Sun encamp themselves CONCLUSION. 133 above, and repeat the song of the wanderer whose mantle the whirlwind tore off and carried away :—“It took the covering, but not the man.” There is a rosy hue on the snow of the mountains; there is a rosy hue in every heart where the thought dwells that “God always gives us that which is best for us!” but it is not always revealed to us, as it once happened to Babeşte in her dream. THE BUTTERFLY. 137 Qhe #311tterfln. P)HE butterfly wished to procure a bride for himself—of course, One of the flowers, a pretty little one. He looked about him. Each one sat quietly and thoughtfully on * her stalk, as a young maiden should sit when she is not affianced; but there were many of them, and it was a difficult matter to choose amongst them. The butterfly could not make up his mind: so he flew to the daisy. The French call her Marguerite; they know that she can tell fortunes; and she does this when lovers pluck off leaf after leaf and ask her at each one a ques- tion about the beloved one :—“How does he love me 2—With all his heart 7–With 138 THE BUTTERFLY. * * ----- sorrow 7–Above all?—Can not refrain from it?—Quite secretly 7–A little bit?— Not at all?”—or questions to the same im- port. Each one asks in his own language. The butterfly flew towards her and ques. tioned her : he did not pluck off the leaves, but kissed each one separately, thinking that by so doing he would make himself more agreeable to the good creature. “Sweet Margaret Daisy,” said he, “of all the flowers you are the wisest woman You can prophesy Tell me, shall I obtain this one or that one 7 Which one 2 If I but know this, I can fly to the charmrng one at once, and pay my court ſ” Margaret did not answer. She could not bear to be called a woman, for she was a young girl, and when one is a young girl, one is not a woman. He asked again, he asked a third time; but, as she did not answer a single word, he questioned her no more, and flew away THE BUTTERFLY. 139 without further parley, intent on his court- ship. It was early spring-time, and there was an abundance of snow-drops and crocuses. “They are very meat,” said the butterfly, “pretty little confirmed ones, but a little green l’’ He, like all young men, looked at older girls. From thence he flew to the anemones; but he found them a little too sentimental; the tulips, too showy ; the broom, not of a good family; the linden-blossoms, too small,—then they had so many relations, as to the apple-blossoms, why, to look at them you would think them as healthy as roses, but to-day they blossom and to- morrow, if the wind blows, they drop off; a marriage with them would be too short. The pea-blossom pleased him most: she was pink and white, she was pure and refined and belonged to the housewifely girls that look well and still can make themselves 140 THE BUTTERFLY. useful in the kitchen. He had almost con. cluded to make love to her, when he saw hanging near to her a pea-pod with its white blossom. “Who is that ?” asked he. “That is my sister,” said the pea-blossom. “How, now I is that the way you look when okier?” This terrified the butterfly, and he flew away. The honeysuckles were hanging over the fence,—young ladies with long faces and yellow skins,—but he did not fancy their style of beauty. Yes, but which did he like 7 Ask him The spring passed, the summer passed, and then came the autumn. The flowers appeared in their most beautiful dresses; but of what avail was this? The butter fly's fresh youthful feelings had vanished. In old age the heart longs for fragrance, and dahlias and gillyflowers are scentless. So the butterfly flew to the mint. “She has no flower at all, but she is herself a THE BUTTERFLY. 141 flower, for she is fragrant from head to foot, and each leaf is filled with perfume. I shall take her l’’ But the mint stood stiff and still, and at last said: “Friendship, but nothing more I am old, and you are old ! We can live very well for one another; but to marry? No! Do not let us make fools of ourselves in our old age.” So the butterfly obtained no one. The butterfly remained a bachelor. Many violent and transient showers came late in the autumn; the wind blew so coldly down the back of the old willow- trees that it cracked within them. It did not do to fly about in summer garments, for even love itself will then grow cold. The butterfly, however, preferred not to fly out at all; he had by chance entered a door-way, and there was fire in the stove, —yes, it was just as warm there as in summer-time; there he could live. “Life 142 THE BUTTERFLY. is not enough,” said he: “one must have sunshine, liberty, and a little flower l’ He flew against the window-panes, was seen, was run through by a pin and placed in a curiosity-box: one could not do more for him. “Now I also am seated on a stalk like a flower,” said the butterfly, “it is not so comfortable after all ! But it is as well as being married, for then one is tied down l’ With this he consoled himself. - “What a wretched consolation l’” said the flower, that grew in the pot in the TOOOl. “One cannot entirely trust to flowers that grow in pots,” thought the butterfly: “they have too much intercourse with men.” *-- THE PSYCHE. 145 Qi he jJapche. LARGE star beams in the dawn of morning in the red sky, the re, clearest star of the morning: its § rays tremble upon the white wall, as if they wished to write down and relate the scenes which they had wit, nessed during many centuries. Listen to one of these storiesl A short time ago (this not long ago is, with us men, centuries) my rays followed a young artist: it was in the realm of the Pope, in the city of the world, in Rome. Many changes have been made, but the imperial palace was, as it is to. day, a ruin ; between the overthrown mar. ble columns and over the ruined bath rooms, whose walls were still decorated 10 146 THE PSYCHE. * } with gold, grew fig and laurel trees The Colosseum was a ruin; the church- bells rang, the incense arose and proces: sions passed through the streets with tapers and gorgeous canopies. The Church was holy, and art was lofty and holy also. In Rome dwelt Raphael, the greatest painter of the world ; here also dwelt Michael Angelo, the greatest Sculptor of the age : even the Pope did homage to them both, and honoured them with his visits. Art was recognized, honoured, and rewarded All greatness and excellence is not seen and recognized. In a little narrow street stood an old house which had once been a temple. Here dwelt a young artist : he was poor, he was unknown : it is true that he had young friends, artists also, young in feel- ings, in hopes, and in thoughts. They told him that he was rich in talents and excellence, but that he needed confidence pºss-- * *-*-* TEIE PSYCHE. 147 in himself. He was never satisfied with his work, and either destroyed all that he modelled or left it unfinished. This is not the proper course to adopt, if Cne would be known, appreciated and live. “You are a dreamer,” said they : “this is your misfortune 1 You have not yet lived: you have not inhaled life in large healthy draughts; you have not yet en- joyed it. One should do this in youth and become a man | Look at the great master Raphael, whom the Pope honours and the world admires: he takes wine and bread with him.” “He dines with the baker's wife, the pretty Formarinal" said Angelo, one of the merry young friends. Yes, they all appealed to his good sense and to his youth. They wished to have the young artist join them in their merry-makings, in their extravagances, and in their mad tricks. He 148 THE PSYCHE. would do so for a short time, for his blood was warm, his imagination strong; he could take his part in their merry con- versation, and laugh as loudly as the others; and yet “the merry life of Ra- phael,” as they named it, vanished from him like the morning mist, when he saw the god-like lustre which shone forth from the paintings of the great masters, or when he stood in the Vatican and beheld the forms of beauty which the old Sculptors had fashioned from blocks of marble, centuries ago. His breast swelled; he felt something so lofty, so holy, so elevated within him, yes, something so great and good, that he longed to create and chisel like forms from marble blocks. He desired to give expression to the feelings which agitated his heart; but how and in what shape? The soft clay allowed itself to be modelled into beautiful figures by his THE PSYCHE. 149 fingers, but on the following day, dissatis. fied, he destroyed all he had created. One day he passed by one of the rich palaces of which Rome has so many. He stood a moment at the large open en- trance, and gazed into a little garden, full - of the most beautiful roses, which was surrounded by archways decorated with paintings. Large, white callas, with their green leaves, sprouted forth from marble shells, into which splashed clear water. A form glided by, a young girl, the daughter of this princely house,_so elegant, so light, so charming! He had never seen so lovely a woman. Hold ! yes, once,—one made by Raphael,—a painting of Psyche, in one or the palaces of Rome. There she was but painted; here she breathed and moved. She lived in his thoughts and in his heart. He went home to his poor lodgings and formed a Psyche out of clay: it was the rich young Roman girl, the princely . . 150 THE PSYCHE. woman; and he gazed at his work with satisfaction for the first time. This had a signification : it was She. When his friends looked upon it, they exclaimed, with joy, that this work was a revelation of his artistic greatness, which they had always recognized, but which now should be recognized by the whole world. Clay is natural, flesh-like, but it has not the whiteness, the durability, of marble: the Psyche must obtain life from the block of marble; and he had the most precious piece of marble. It had been the property of his parents, and had been lying many - years in the court-yard; bits of broken bottles, remains of artichokes, were heaped over it, and it was soiled, but its interior was white as the mountain snow. The Psyche should rise forth from it. One day it so happened—it is true that the clear stars do not relate it, for they did not see it; but we know it—that a distin & - THE PSYCHE. 151 guished Roman party came to view the young artist's work, of which they had casually heard. Who were the distin- guished visitors? Poor young man! All too happy young man, one may call him also. Here in his room stood the young girl herself—with what a smile when her father said: “You are that, living !” One cannot picture the look, one cannot render the look, the strange look, with which she glanced at the young artist: it was a look which elevated, ennobled, and—destroyed. “The Psyche must be executed in mal. ble l’” said the rich man. This was a word of life for the dead clay and for the heavy block of marble; it was also a word of life for the young man, who was over- come by emotion. “I will buy it as soon as the work is completed ſ” said the princely man. It seemed as though a new era had dawned in the poor work-room: occupa 152 THE PSYCHE. - tion, life, and gayety lighted it up. The beaming morning star saw how the work progressed. Even the clay had been en- dowed with a soul since she had been there, and he bent entranced over the well-known features. “Now I know what life is ſ” he ex- claimed, with delight: “it is lovel it is tne elevation of the heart to the divine ! it is rapture for the beautiful! What my friends call life and enjoyment is perish- able, like bubbles in the fermenting lees, not the pure, heavenly wine of the altar, the consecration of life ſ” The marble block was erected; the chisel hewed away large pieces; the labourer's part was done, marks and points placed, until, little by little, the stone became a body, a shape of beauty,+the Psyche, -as charming as was the woman made by God The massive stone became a soaring, dan cing, airy light, and graceful Psyche, with . r- THE PSYCHE. 153 * - a heavenly, innocent smile, the smile that had been mirrored in the young sculptor's heart. The star, in the rosy-tinted morning, saw, and partly understood, what was agitating the mind of the young man: it understood as well the varying colour of his cheeks and the glance of his eye, whilst he created, as though inspired by God. “You are a master like those in the days of the Greeks,” said his enchanted friends: “the world will soon admire your Psychel" “My Psyche,” he repeated, “mine ! yes, - that she must be I am also an artist like the great departed ones! God has granted gifts of mercy to me, and has - elevated me to the highly born 1" He sank, weeping, on his knees, and offered up his thanks to God, but for. got him again for her, for her portrait in marble for the Psyche form, that stood 154, THE PSYCHE. before him, as though cut out of snow blushing in the morning Sun. He should see her, the living, floating one, in reality, she, whose words sounded like music. He would himself carry the tidings, that the marble Psyche was com- pleted, to the rich palace. He arrived, passed through the open court-yard, where the water splashed from dolphins' mouths into marble shells, where callas bloomed and fresh roses blossomed. He stepped into the large, lofty hall, whose walls and ceilings were gorgeous with brilliant colours, with paintings and armorial bear- ings. Well-dressed and haughty servants, holding up their heads (like sleigh-horses with their bells), were pacing up and down; some of them had even stretched themselves out comfortably and insolently on the carved wooden benches: they ap- peared to be the masters of the house. He named his business, and was conducted THE PsychE. 155 up the marble steps, which were covered with soft carpets. On each side stood statues. Then he came to richly decorated apartments, hung with paintings, and with mosaic floors. - This pomp, this splendour, made him breathe a little heavily; but he soon felt reassured; for the old prince received him kindly, almost cordially. After they had spoken, as he was taking leave, he begged him to visit the young signora, for she also wished to see him. The servants led him through magnificent chambers and corri- dors to her apartments, of which she was the glory and splendour. She spoke with him | No Miserere, no church song, could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips: no rose is so soft; but a fire proceeds from this rose, —a fire streams through him, and his 156 THE PSYCHE. breast heaves. Words flowed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burn ing lava 7 He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, - yes, scornful, with an expression on her face as though a damp, clammy frog had suddenly touched her. Her cheeks coloured; her lips grew pale; her eyes were on fire, and still black as the dark- ness of night. “Frantic creature Away I away ſ” said she, as she turned her back upon him. Ber face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its ser- pent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and, in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air, and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe so excited was he—that Angelo, his friend THE PSYCHE. 157 ——s stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. - “Have you become mad? What would - you do?” They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and, with a deep- drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair. “What has occurred 7” asked Angelo. “Collect yourself! Speak!” What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. “Your blood grows thick with this eter- nal dreaming! Be human, like others, and live not in the clouds I Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated: then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Cam- pagna is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace; they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angeleſ I am your good angel, the angel . 158 THE PSYCHE. of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle, and some beautiful sunshiny day, when every. thing laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered strawl I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the gravel It is a pretty fancy, a fairy-tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality Come with me ! Become a man ſ” He drew him away: he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul, -an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts, to forget his old Self; and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists. It was built in the ruins of a bathing-chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage hung large yellow lemons, which covered a portion of the old TEIE PSYCHIE. 159 *- reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a leep vault, almost like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted, cooked, and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set. They were received merrily and rejoic- ingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much, and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded, and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment, two pretty Bacchante | They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy, flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sindown Fire in the blood, fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air 160 THE PSYCHE, ** swam in gold and roses, life was gold and TOS6S. “Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the curren. within and without you!” “I never felt so well and joyous before ſ” said the young artist. “You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer: man belongs to reality, and not to fancy ſ” The young men left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tink- ling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room the voices sounded more suppressed, but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna, yet they them. THE PSYCHE. 161 selves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods “Apollo 1 Jupiter | I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory ! Methinks that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!” Yes, it did unfold: it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumb- ing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought, “Fie!” sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. “Miserable wretch I away away!"—and he sighed sorrowfully. “Away! away ſ” These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon the pillows, his thoughts became confused, and he slept. - At the dawn of day he started up.– What was this? Was it a dream 2 Were 162 THE PSYCHE. her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna, but a dream 7–No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple. tinted air; its rays fell upon him, and upon y the marble Psyche. He trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality; his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it; he touched it once more, in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own medita- tions, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him ; no one knew what was agitating this human heart. Tays passed by, weeks passed by ; the nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise from his couch, pale, trembling with fever: he walked to the marble statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrow --- THE PSYCHE. 163. ful, deep, long look, and then, almost sink- ing under the weight, he drew the statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well within it, into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it, and covered the fresh grave with Small sticks and nettles. “Away I away!” was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever-sick one,— sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him as a friend and as a physician. He came, and, with the consoling words of religion, he spoke of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sins of man, of the mercy and glory of God. The words fell like warm sunbeams OIl the moist, fermenting ground; they dis- persed and cleared away the misty clouds 164 | THE PSYCHE. from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him, He gazed upon his past life: everything had been a failure, a deception,-yes, had been. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: “Taste, and thou shalt become like unto God.” -- Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. In the church was God's light and brightness; in the monk's cell was found that peace which enables man to obtain eternal bliss. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made:–a worldling became a servant of the church; the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. THE PSYCHE. 16¢, How joyfully, how cordially, the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination It seemed to him that God was in the sun shine of the church, and beamed within it from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome, with her broken temples, her massive but dead Colosseum, her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens her fragrant roses, her shining lemons ar, i Oranges, her palm- trees fanned by the breeze,_and felt touched and satisfied. The quiet, open Campagna extended to the blue snow- topped mountains, which appeared to be painted on the air. Everything breathed beauty and peace. The whole—a dream Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. 166 THE PSYCHE. Man is naturally impure; and he felt this! What flames were these that at times glowed through him 2 Was it the power of the Evil One that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him 2 He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience under a loving cloak and con- soled him The saints pray for us, the holy Virgin prays for us, Jesus himself gave his blood for us! Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many 7 For had he not cast away the vanity of the world? was he not a son of the church 7 One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. “Man,” said he, “yes, it is you ! Are THE PSYCHE. 167 you happy now 7 You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it spoke but truth ! What have you won and found, after all 7 Do not make a dream-life for yourself. Make a religion for yourself, as all do. Suppose all is but a dream, a fancy, a beautiful thought !” “Get thee behind me, Satan l’” said the monk, and forsook Angelo. “It is a devil, a devil personified I saw him to-day,” murmured the monk. “ſ reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand l No,” sighed he, “the wicked- ness is in myself; it is also in this man; but he is not tormented by it: he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare But if this is only con- 168 THE PSYCHE. solation! If all here consist of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue wave — like beauty of the distant moun- tains! Seen near, how changed Eternity, art thou like unto the great, infinite, calm ocean, which beckons to us, calls us, fills us with presentiments, and if we venture upon it we sink, we vanish,_die, -cease to be 2– “Deceit I away away !” He sat tearless on his hard couch, deso late, kneeling—before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No: habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. “Nothing within, nothing without ! Life thrown away !” This thought crushed him, an: nihilated him. THE PSYCHE. 169 “I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me ! My prisoner is my secret, and if it escape I am lost l” The power of God wrestled within him. “Lord! Lord!” he exclaimed, in his despair, “be merciful! give me faith ! I cast thy gifts of mercy from me, and my vocation for this world ! I prayed for strength, and thou hast not given it to me. Immortality The Psyche in my breast— away ! away I Must it be buried like yon Psyche, the light of my life, never to arise from the grave?” The star beamed in the rosy red atmos- phere, the star which will be lost and will vanish whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall; but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love, which beams in the breast of every believer. “Can the Psyche never die? Can one live with consciousness 7 Can the im. 170 THE PSYCHE. possible take place? Yes | yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, Oh Lord! A wonder of might, glory, and love l’’ His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground, and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. - Years afterwards, his bones were ex- humed, and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him: they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read. Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there THE PSYCHE. 171 were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. See, something living moved in the sunshine in the two eye-sockets: what was that? A brilliant lizard was running about in the hollow skull, slipping in and out of the large, empty sockets. This was now the life in the head where once ele- vated thoughts, brilliant dreams, love for art and the magnificent had been rife, from which hot tears had rolled, and where the hope of immortality had lived. The lizard leaped out and disappeared; the skull crumbled away and became dust to dust. Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street 172 THE PSYCHE. with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent. A grave was dug in the garden, for a young nun had died, and she was to be lowered into the earth at this early hour of the morning. The spade struck against a stone which appeared of a dazzling whiteness; the white marble came forth; it rounded into a shoulder; they used the spade with care, and a female head became visible, – butterfly wings. They raised from the grave, in which the young nun was to be laid on this rosy morning, a gloriously beautiful Psyche-form chiselled from white marble. “How magnificent How perfect a master-work 1" they said. “Who can the artist be 2'' Eſe was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries: it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was “but a man!” But he was dead, dispersed as dust must THE PSYCHE. 173 and shall be; but the result of his best efforts, the glory which pointed out the divine within him, the Psyche, which never fiies, which surpasses in brightness all earthly renown, this remained, was seen, acknowledged, admired, and beloved. - The clear morning star, in the rosy-tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones who beheld the soul chiselled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away and is forgotten: only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame, and earthly glory die away, but—the Psyche lives forever ! - THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. 177 tº-ºsmºs ººmsº *-*sº sº-- - - -ºsmºº-ºº-ºº-ººse amºa- -adºº- Qilje ºnail and the Rost-Gree. HEDGE of hazel-nut bushes en- º circled the garden; without was field and meadow, with cows and # sheep; but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail. She had much within her: she had herself. “Wait until my time comes,” said she. “I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep !” “I expect something fearfully grand,” said the rose-tree. “May I ask when it will take place?” “I shall take my time,” said the snail. “You are in too great a hurry, and, when *- * * # 178 THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. this is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled ?” The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers, and drew itself in again. “Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made: the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther ſ” The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flow- ers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather became raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept into the earth. A new year commenced: the roses came out, and the snail came out. - “Now you are an old rose-bush,” said the snail; “you will soon die away. You *-*- THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE, 179 have given the world everything that you had in you: whether that be much or little is a question upon which I have not time to reflect. But it is quite evident that you have not done the slightest thing towards your inward development; otherwise I suppose that something different would have sprung from you. Can you answer this? You will soon be nothing but a stick! Can you understand what I say?” “You startle me,” said the rose-tree. “I have never thought upon that ſ” “No : I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking ! Can you tell me why you blossom 7 And how it comes to pass? How? Why?” “No,” said the rose-tree. “I blossom with pleasure because I could not do other. wise. The sun was so warm, the air so refreshing, I drank the clear dew and the fortifying rain; I breathed, I lived A strength came to me from the earth, a -. 180 THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. strength came from above, I felt a happi. ness ever new, ever great and therefore I must blossom ever. That was my life: I could not do otherwise !” “You have led a very easy life ſ” said the snail. it! “Certainly : everything has been given to me,” said the rose-tree. “But still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world !” “I have assuredly no such thought in my mind,” said the snail. “The world is nothing to me! What have I to do with the world? I have enough with myself, and enough in myself!” “But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of ourselves to others, ——offer what we can Ž It is true that I have only given roses—but you? You who have received so much, what have THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. 181 a- - - -m- - you given to the world? What do you give her?” “What I have given 7 What I give? I spit upon her She is good for nothing ! I have naught to do with her. Put forth roses; you can do no more I Let the hazel- bushes bear nuts; let the cows and sheep give milk: they have each their public ; I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!” And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. “That is so sad,” said the rose-tree. “With the best will, I cannot creep in ; I must ever Spring out, spring forth in roses. The leaves drop off and are blown away by the wind. Yet, I saw one of the roses laid in the hymn-book of the mother of the family; one of my roses was placed upon - the breast of a charming young girl; and one was kissed with joy by a child's mouth ~ . …" 182 THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE. This did me so much good l it was a real blessing ! That is my recollection, my life ſ” And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail be- came earth to earth, and the rose-tree became earth to earth ; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away; but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, new snails grew in the garden: they crept. in their houses and spat.—The world is nothing to them. Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different. Page Missing in Original Volume Page Missing in Original Volume THE SILVER SHILLING. 185 Çhe ºilurr £5billing. HERE was once a shilling, that ºf; came bright and shining from the mint; it sprang, and clinked, and % cried: “Hurrah! Now I shall go out into the wide world !” And it really did go out into the wide world. The miser held it firmly in his cold, clammy grasp; he turned and twisted it, Heaven knows how often ; but when it reached the little child, he looked at it lying in his warm hand, and let it roll on farther. The shilling was of silver; it had but little copper mixed with it, and had already been a whole year in the ...” 186 THE SILVER SHILLING. world—that is to say, in the country where it had been coined. One day, how- ever, it went travelling into foreign lands: it was the last coin of his own country that remained to its master; he did not even know that he possessed it, until it fell into his hand. “Here is a shilling from home,” said he, “it shall accompany me on my journey !” The shilling sprang and clinked with joy, when it was restored to the purse. Here it lay with its foreign comrades, who were constantly coming and going; they made place for one another, but the shilling from home was retained: that was a distinction. Several weeks passed by ; although the shilling had travelled far, it had seen nothing. It is true that the other coins told it that they were French and Italian, that they were now in this town, now in that one; but the shilling had no imagi nation; was it always to remain in a bag, THE SILVER SHILLING. 187 was that its destiny? As it lay there, it observed that the purse was not fastened; it slipped up to the opening and peeped out. It should not have done this; but is not curiosity always punished? It fell into the pantaloons pocket; when the purse was taken out at night, the shilling was not missed, and was carried into the entry with the clothes. It fell upon the floor: no one heard it, no one saw it ! At length it was found, and went forth again into service. “How pleasant it is to look around,” thought the shilling, “ to make acquaintances and learn new cus. toms l'' “What kind of a shilling is that,” it heard them cry, “this is not a coin of the country It is a counterfeit ! It is good for nothing !” Yes, let the shilling relate its own story, “Counterfeit ! Good for naught r—Thes, 188 THE SILVER SHILLING. sº-sºrrºw--- ~ * - words stabbed me to the soul. I knew that I was made of good silver, that I had a good clink, and that I was well stamped. The people were assuredly mistaken : they could not mean me ! But they did mean me ! It was I, whom they called a counterfeit, I– who they said was worth nothing l—‘I must get rid of this thing when it is dark,' said the man who received me. I was spent in the dark, and was abused again in broad daylight. ‘Coun- terfeit, good for nothing !’ “I trembled when I found myself be- tween the fingers of those who wished to pass me off as current coin. Miserable shilling Am I indeed of no value 7 In the eyes of the world you are but that, which they imagine you to be If I, who am entirely innocent, feel so badly merely because appearances are against me, how terrible it must be to have a bad conscience and to be wicked 1 Every THE SILVER SHILLING. 1859 time, that I was produced, I shuddered ; for did I not know that I should be rejected, and thrown upon the table as though I were a cheat and an impostor? Once I was given to a poor, old woman; she received me in payment for a weary day's labour; but she could not rid her self of me. None would take me; I was a real source of unhappiness to her. “I am; really forced to impose upon some one.’ said she, ‘I cannot afford to throw away this bad shilling; the rich baker shall have it; he can lose it better than any one ;—still, it is wrong for me to deceive him ſ” “Must I now be a burden to this poor woman's conscience ; am I, then so al- tered in my old days? *. “The woman betook herself to the rich baker; but he knew only too well the current shillings, and could not be induced to take me. He threw me into the woman's 190 THE SILVER SEIILLING. * face; she received no bread for me; and I felt heartily sad. Have I been coined but to be a trouble to others; I, who in my young days was so confident of my worth? I became as sorrowful as a poor shilling can be, when no one will have it. The woman took me back to her house; she gazed upon me with a cordial, friendly look, and said, No, I will deceive no one ! I will put a hole through you, so that every one can see that you are a counterfeit, and stay—it just occurs to me—perhaps you are a lucky shilling— the thought has come to me so suddenly, that I almost believe you are one! I will pass a cord through you, and hang you around the neck of my neighbour's little girlſ' Yes, she cut a hole through me. It was certainly not a very agreeable opera tion, but I endured it without a murmur, for it was done with a good intention. A cord was passed through me, I became a TEIE SILVER SHILLING. 191. sort of locket, and was hung upon the little girl's neck. The child smiled upon me and kissed me; I rested an entire night upon her warm, innocent breast. “When morning came, the mother took - me between her fingers, and looked at me carefully; she had her own thoughts, as I soon discovered. She took a pair of scissors and cut the cord. - “A lucky shilling,' said she ; ‘yes, we shall soon see that l’ She laid me in vine- gar—I became quite green—she cemented the hole, rubbed me slightly, and went at twilight to the lottery-office, in order to purchase a ticket that would bring her luck. “How badly I felt! It seemed to me that I must break | I knew that before a mass of shillings and coins that lay there, with inscriptions and faces of which they could be proud, I should be called a counterfeit ; but I escaped this mortifica- - ~~~~~~~ jº- * *-* we mºme-º-º-º- * * * * * * * * *-* * * * 192 THE SILVER SHILLING. tion. There were many people in the ticket-office; they were very busy, and I was cast, jingling, into the drawer amidst the other coins. I know not if the number drew a prize; but I know, that on the following morning I was recognized to be a counterfeit shilling, was laid aside, and was sent out to deceive I Am I ever to deceive “For a year and more I wandered thus, from hand to hand, from house to house, ever abused, ever reviled; no one trusted me, and I distrusted all the world. That was a weary period One day, a traveller arrived—a foreigner; he was confiding, and so I was given to him; but when he offered me in payment, I again heard the exclamations of ‘Good for nothing ! Coun- terfeit '' “I took it for good money,' said the man; and then he examined me closely; suddenly a smile lighted up his face. THE SILVER SHILLING. 193 ‘Why, what is this,' said he, ‘it really is one of our own coins; a good, honest shilling, through which they have bored a hole, and which they call a counterfeit ! This is indeed curious ! I shall keep you, and take you home !’ “Joy thrilled through me, I was called a good, honest shilling; I was to return home, where all knew me—where all could See that I was of good silver, and possessed a genuine stamp. I would have emitted sparks of delight, but it was not in my nature; steel can emit sparks, but not silver. “I was wrapped in fine, white paper, so that I might not be confounded with other coins and be spent; on festive occasions, when countrymen were met, I was produced and praised; they said that I was inter- esting. It is really remarkable that one can be interesting, and not be able to speak a word 194 THE SILVER SHILLING. * At last I reached home 1 All my sor rows were at an end; joy returned to me— for was I not of good silver, had I not a genuine stamp? No more adversities befell me. They had bored a hole through me to show that I was a counterfeit—what mat- tered it—it was not true ! With per- severance, all comes right ! This is my belief,” said the shilling. THE old CHURCH-BELL. 197 º sº- Qilje (Old Church-33cil. 35 N that portion of Germany which is £ called Würtemberg—where, in the autumn the acacias bloom so beauti- º fully by the road-side, and apple and pear trees are bent to the ground under the weight of their ripe fruit—there lies a small town, called Marbach. Tt ranks among the small towns; but it is charmingly situated on the banks of the Neckar, which rushes by hamlets, villages, and towns, by knights' gastles and verdant This story formed tha tribute of the Danish author, sº be! - ed i Germany to the Schiller-Album. 198 THE OLD CHURCH-BELL. vineyards, in order to conduct its waters to the proud Rhine. It was late in the year. The reddish foliage of the vines drooped. Showers of rain fell, and cold winds arose. The dark days came; but it was darker still in the little houses of the town of Marbach. One of these had its gable turned towards the street; it had needy-looking windows, and its inhabitants were needy also, but they were honest, industrious, and God-fearing. The good Lord would soon bestow another child upon them; the hour had arrived, and the mother lay in pain and suffering. Then the peal of the church-bell was heard, and it filled with its deep and serious sound. the praying soul of the woman with devo- tion and firm confidence in God. Her little son was born ; she felt the blessed joy of a happy mother, and the bell seemed to wish to announce her delight throughout the town Two bright child's eyes gazed A OLD CEIUFCH-BELL. 199 : upon her, and the tiny new-born citizen's hair shone like gold. The child was ushered into the world, with the ringing of the bell on the dark November day; the parents kissed it, and wrote in their Bible; “On the 10th of November, 1759, God gave us a son.” Afterwards they added, that he had received in the holy baptism the name of John Christopher Frederick. What was to be the future of this little boy, this poor lad, this native of insignifi- cant Marbach 7 No one could tell—no, not even the old church-bell—although it hung so high, and had first sung over him—could imagine that he would write the “Song of the Bell,” the most beautiful of all songs, upon it. And the child grew, and the world grew with him. It is true that his parents removed to another town; but they left dear friends behind them in Marbach, and therefore mother and son came there one *m-º: 200 THE old CHURCH-BELL. day on a visit. The boy was now six years old; he knew many passages from the - Bible, and the holy Psalms; full many an evening, as he sat upon his little chair made of reeds, he had heard his father read Gellert's Fables and Klopstock's Messiah aloud, and he and his little sister—two years older than himself—had shed bitter tears, when they heard of Him, who had suffered death upon the cross for them. They found Marbach almost unchanged; the houses, with their pointed gables, oblique walls, and low windows, looked as they formerly had done; but new graves had been dug in the church-yard, and close to its wall, in the grass, lay the old church- bell. It had fallen from its height; it was . cracked, and could ring no more —a new bell already replaced it. Mother and son had gone to the church- yard. They stood before the old bell and the mother told her little boy, how it & T OLD CHURCH-BELL. 201 : } | t 4- had done good service for many hundred years—how it had rung at the baptism of children and at weddings—how it had tolled at funerals—how it had announced festiº e joy, and the terrors of fire—and how it had accompanied with its song a human life to its end. She said that this old bell had pealed a consolation and joy to her ºn her hour of suffering, when her little boy was given to her; and the child gazed with amazement—yes, almost with devotion-, upon the large, old bell. He leaned ove, it and kissed it—old, cracked, and neglected—as it lay there amid grass and nettles.—The young boy never forgot what his mother related to him, in the church-yard, at Marbach : her words found an echo in his heart; and when he became a man he repeated them to the world in Song. - - The remembrance of the old church- bell did not forsake the little boy, who - - - - 202 THE OLD CHURCH-B * - *- *- * - - grew up in indigence; he became tall and thin, his hair was reddish, his face was covered with freckles; thus appeared he ; but his eyes, when you looked into them, reminded you of dark, deep waters—How went it with him in the world 2 Well— amazingly well I Was he not admitted, as the greatest favour, to that division of the military school in which were placed the sons of the most distinguished families 2 This was indeed a great honour, a great stroke of fortune | He was attired in high boots, a stiff cravat, and a powdered wig; he was taught military science, and obeyed the command of “March 1” “Halt l” “Front l’’ Surely something would be made of hum ! The old church-bell which was cast aside would doubtless be placed in the melting- furnace; but what would then be made of it? It was as impossible for any one D CHURCH-BELL. 203 to know this, as it was for them to prophesy that something would be made of the words, that had found an echo in this young breast. There was metal in it, that would one day resound and peal far over the world. More and more solid it became, while the walls of the school ; contracted, and the cry of “March 1” “Halt l” “Front 1" grew ever louder. He sang to his comrades, and the sounds were wafted to the utmost verge of his own land. Had they given him free schooling, clothes, and board for this 7 Had not his position in life been marked out for him 7 Could he not be moulded by the will of others? How little we understand our- selves; how, then, should others under- stand us? Is not the precious stone pro- duced by pressure? The pressure had been given; but would the world recognize the gem, when it was placed before it? In the capital of the reigning prince 204 THE old CHURCH a great festival was given; thousands of lamps burned, and rockets arose in the air. The splendour, of this festival, lives yet in our memories, through him, who sought amid tears and sorrow, to reach a foreign shore unnoticed. He felt, that if he did not leave his fatherland, his mother, and all his dear ones, he must perish in the stream of universality. All was well with the old church-bell for it stood secure behind the wall of Mar- bach's church-yard, well preserved and forgotten. The wind roared by it, and could have given it tidings of him at whose birth it had rung; yes, the wind could have told, how coldly it had blown over him, as he sank, exhausted in the forest of the neighbouring country—all his riches consisting in the manuscript of his “Fiesco.” The wind could have told how his only protectors, the artists, when he read it aloud to them, had slipped away JLD CHURCH-BELL. 205 |: wº one after the other, preferring the bowling- alley to it.—Yes, the wind could have told as well how the pale fugitive had sung of his “Ideal,” whilst living for weeks and months in the wretched inn, whose landlord swore and drank, and where rough joviality desecrated the Sabbath! Sorrowful days and gloomy nights were these l But the poor heart, itself, must ex- perience trials, before it can give utterance to them in Song. Dark days and cold nights passed over the old church-bell; it is true that it was unaware of it; but the bell in the human breast felt the heavy times. How went it with the young man, and what became of the old bell? The old church-bell was carried far away—farther, much farther, than its sounds had ever floated; and the bell in the young man's breast resounded farther than his feet could wander or his eye could reach; it pealed and pealed 206 THE OLD CHIJR i. i. ever on—over ocean, over land, over all the world. But let us now hear about the church-bell! It was taken away from Marbach, and was sold as old metal to the foundry in Bavaria. Many years had passed, since it had fallen from the tower in Marbach. Now it was to be melted, it was to be used in the casting of a mag- nificent statue—a monument for all Ger- many. What strange events sometimes take place 3. Up in Denmark, on one of the green islands, where the birch-trees grow and where so many graves of the Huns stand, there lived a very poor lad, who, with wooden shoes, always carried in an old, worn-out handkerchief the noon-day's mea! to his father, who worked in the ship- yard. This boy, once so poor, had become the pride of his country”; for he possessed the art of hewing glorious objects out of -* The famous sculptor Thorwaldsen. LD CHURCH-BRLL. 207 marble; and it was to him that the honour- able commission was given to fashion a form in clay—which was to be cast in metal—the form of him, whose name had been written in his father's bible as John Christopher Frederick. The metal flowed glowing and steaming into the mould ; and with it flowed the old church-bell, on whose former home no one thought; it formed the head and breast . of the statue, which now stands unveiled in Stuttgart, before the old castle, upon the very spot, from whence he, whom the figure represents, once went forth suffering, to battle and strive for poetical grandeur and immortality—he, the poor boy, the native of Marbach, the pupil of the famous Charles school, the fugitive–Germany's greatest and most immortal poet, who sang of the deliverer of Switzerland and the inspired Maid of Orleans ! Years afterwards, on a glorious, sun. 208 shiny day, banners floated from the houses and towers of royal Stuttgart, and bells : pealed with festivity and joy. One bell was silent; but it glittered in the bright sunshine, upon the countenance of the honoured one. For it war the hundredth anniversary” of the d on which the church-bell had rung consolation and joy to the suffering mother, who bore, in the needy hºuse, the poor son whose rich treasures the whole world admired and blessed—the singer of all that is glori- ous and great :— John Christopher Frederick von Schiller. • November 10, 1850. second cover-page. * § {The Ice-Maiden, Stories. By Hans Andersen. IIIus...... 10C 39 The Christmas y Hans Andersen. Illus................. 10G. 58 the Shoes of Fo ºffid Óther Stories. By Hans Andersen, Ilius. 10c Éſ Fairy Tales. By Hans Andersen. Illus............... * * * * * * * * * * * is s ... 10C 56; The Story-teller, and Other Tales. By Hans Andersen. Illus....... 10C The Great Bridge. By Hon. A. S. Hewitt and R. S. Storrs, D.D..... 3C Young Folks’ Series, I., Nos. 10, 13, 40, 51, 52, 53, combined. . . . . . . . . . . . 12C Adventures of Baron Munchausen....... ....... * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 2C H | Fables from AESOp. Illustrated. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3C J Biography Series, I., Nos. 4, 11, 16, 38, combined. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10C | Hºmo Séries, i. Nos. 15, 17, 19, 30, 31, combined...................... 10C J Science Series, I., NOS. 5, 12, 42, 44, 46, combined. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10C: , ſ ? Poetry Series, I., NOS. 6, 25, 26, 27, 28, 36, combined.................... 1:03 3 Philosophy of Style. By #erbert's percer........................ 3C * Evidences of Evolution. By T. H. Huxley. Illustrated............. 2C 3 Ruddhism. By John Caird...................................... - - - - - - - - 2C */ H.2 Civilizations of Asia. By George Rawlinson.... ::, .................... 2c * **, 1 Life of Peter COOper. By C. Edwards Lester. Ilkustrated. . . . . . . . . 10C (, ś unshine, and Other Sto “es. By en Tracy €11. UIStrated. 3C ; : "...ſº Sunsh; d Other Sto “as. By Ellen T Alden. Illustrated. 3 {{# Life of Richard Wagnel v Bertha. Thomas. Portrait........ . . . . C !. 3. Pearls of the Faith. By l, in Arnold................................ 15C # , 36 Schiller's Song of the Bell, a Tºther Poems.............. . . . . . . . . . . . 2C 35 Life of Alexander H. Stephene . By Frank H. Norton. Illustrated. 10c 32 The Indian Song of Songs. By Edwin Arnold............. . . . . . . . . . . . 6C § 30 §§ of Literature. By David Pryde. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1') tº &lº 28 Songs of Seven, an her POenlS. By Jean inge iOW. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C N 28 S S d Oth By J Ingel 2 W: 3. How Lisa Loyed the King. By George Eliot.......….....;;......... 2C (# / 26 The Cotter's Saturday Night, and Other Poeras., Robert Burns.... 2C * , 25 The Deserted Village ; The Traveler. Oliver Gold Smith... . . . . . . . . . . . 2C ..) 21 American Humorists—Mark Twain.................................... 2C . . 20 American Humorists—Artemus Ward............... • ' - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2C tº 19 American Humorists—James Russell Lowell...... " ..... . . . . . . . . . . 4C # 1 18.The Cricket on the Hearth. Dickens;, Illustrated................... 1 JC \ } 17 American Humorists—Oliver Wendell Holmes.................. . . . . 2C 16 Life of Gustave DOre. By Frank H. Norton. Illustrated. . . . . . . . . . . . 3C a 15 American Humorists—Irving . . . . . . . . . . . . . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * - - a tº - a s - - - - - - - - 2C if . 14 Bunyan's Pilgrim’s Progress. Complete. Illustrated.......... ... . . 10C * , 13 A. Half Hour in Natural º By S. H. Peabody....... • s - - e, e - e s - 3C § | 12 World Smashing, etc. By W. Mattieu Williams........ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2C .''' iſ Life of Sir Isaac Newton. By James Parton........ . . . . . . * * * * * * * * * * 2C * , | 10 Queen Mabel, etc. By Ellen Tracy Alden...... tº º e º 'º - - * * * * * * * * * * * * * ... 3C ſº 9 Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. By Shakespeare...... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7C (; 8 Life of Frederick the Great. By T. B. Macaulay.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7C | || 7. The Motive and Habit of Reading. By Chas, F. Richardson. . . . . . . 2C || 6 Enoch Arden. By Alfred Tennyson...................... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2C º 5 The ;”. Of Science. By Andrew Wilson. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2C 4 Life of Washington Irving. By R. H. Stoddard. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6C ſº 3 The Words of Washington. His most celebrated papers. . . . . . . . . . . . 4C º 2 The Burning of Rome. By Canon Farrar. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2C | | 1 Rip Van Winkle. By Washington Irving... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2C l “The books have arrived. I am perfectly delighted with them. The *ame books could not be bought for twice the money at any bookstore.” F-W. R. WAN WERT, Raymertown, N. Y. ‘I have received the books. I am delighted with them,-their style *5f binding and makeup exceeding my most sanguine expectations.”— LUTHER PACKARD, Theol. Senn., Chicago, Ilis. “I have examined the books and fournd them even above my highest expectations. There is no danger of your losing any customers after they have the first trial. I inclose $33.64.”—JohM A. JoENSow, Martinez, Calif. _-- ANCIENT ar #YPT. ANCIENT EGYPT. UNEER THE PHARAoEs. By Jo Renrick, M. A. Two voltumes in . .te iargº: 13; tıo., Long Prin type, 902 pages, With Iliustrations. Cloth $1. This most excellent work, some time out of print this country, and costing $15 to import, is now publis !d in a handsome edition, at a price within the reach all. It deals with the history of Egypt from t earliest times to its absorption into the empire of Ale: and&; and in a most comprehensive, thorough, and r Liarkably entertaining way, treats of the arts, sciences lºws, language, religion, agriculture, navigation, an commerce of this in, , ; ; ; *... of the nations of th ancient world. As an au. it y for the exact studen of history, no work upon Egypt ranks higher, and no work approximating it has ever been published it a price less than many times (...', oi, ºged for this edition. {: “The exact knowledge of .;; tient History . . . . enriched by his two volumes on Egypt. Utiºlet tº Patirai. ils.”—London, National Jºe view". - “The descriptions are very vivil, and on a vauders, delighted with the author, through the land of Egypt, gathering at every step, new phases of her wondrous hist ºry, and euds with a more intelligent kaowledge than he ever before had, of the land of the Pharaohs.”— 4merican Spectator. - “No work has heretofore appeared suited to the wants of the his. torical student, which collabine the labors of artists, travellers, inter- preters and critics, during the periods from the earliest records of the monarchy to its final absorption in the empire of Alexander. This work supplies this deficiency.”—Olive Branch. - “Not only the geography and political history of Egypt under T Pharaohs are given, but we are furnished with a minute account. the domestic manners and customs of the inhabitants, their langu laws, science, religion, agriculture, navigation and commerce.” Commercial Advertiser. 4. “These volumes present a comprehensive view of the results of the combined labors of travellers, artists, and Scientific explorers, which have effected so much during the present century toward the development of Egyptian archaeology and history.”—Journal of Com- $723rcé. - w (10) — miſſin - § ºf ... l # § # - - . . . . sºrrº-e--- ---- - *-*.*, * :-------- . . - ~~ - •º ...--~~~ - A *, ** -> * DO NOT REMOVE DR MUTILATE CARD №f ¿ $¢ £ © ® © gº ≡º.º.，ſºğae º.ſ. §§ſaeiae， sººſ º aeºlaeſº ºgº， ~~~~ ·ſeº，） …º.º. （* * * * * .*;*， ！ §§§§§§¶√∞; ſae¿ ¿?ſºſºſ， .*¿¿.*¿¿.*º.º.， eſs'，''，'','',''）;ſºwºsº, º.º.º.º.º.º.º §§§§§§§§§§§§ § , ºſ y №. 3,2º 4 ºgºgº，© & § ¶ ¡ ¿ № ：* ģ ī ， ， ， ， （*∞ √≠ ≠ ≠ ≠& ¿¿ yr ！ ∞ √°.',':',''）;:::：:：：:：:::::：:：:：:::：:：:::ſae* $2 **）?（.） 。 ¿§§§§%;&ſ.§$%^&*）?).*i №ſſae„“ （，，，，，.，:.，，，，§§§§§§§ſae;，&'aerºs}）} § . . ≤ i ≤** ******¿ - ∞∞∞ *: *） ***§§§©®°¶" º , ， ， ，w º W ， ！gººº ！，¿¿.*¿¿.*（*）（.*¿¿.* ✉ ₪¿§§§§§§§§*（.*?）（:：}，și¿ſº，-（（（（（|×№ſº， ºsºrºzº, º¿?§§¿¿.*ºffſ ：:30šº.º.º.，ſae šº ģ, ķ， ·§¶',';'，''，'',''）*,，,，,， ſº :§ § ¶ ¡ ¿ † × ± %¿s）º.º.º， ， ， º.º.º.، ، ، ، ،ººsſa • ºſº），¿ º.º. º.ºsſ.£;';$.º.º.， £§¶√∞i√∞'，*,:;';§§！“¿;（.*.* （?）（?:#（...）įº,'：';';！|- ¿? × № ^~ · 、、、。º : *-ºſ-'，'-'， -'šº ， ， ， ， ** : «ººººººººººº ºſgºſºſ， ae， §§©®.-ſ ºſ .*（.*¿¿.*.*¿¿.*ſ-ſºț¢)ſºțº;ºgº¿¿.*）','}}ſº， ¿ºſºſ， ¿¿.*）'）;ſae ¿?.?,?,！,：， × × × × ×ſaes） ··· ：ſºț¢.º.º.º.º， , ，§§§） sº¿ſaeae:;ºſ;º.“ “...№，№ººº！！! §§§§§§§„ſgºſ ſaeſº? ¿? ¿•)›‹s› ‹‹”›‹’›， ºįº.º.º.º.º.º.º.º.º.*:','','','',¿??¿ $¢ £¿??¿º ſae:¿? §§§， ， §§§§）stº，ſaeſº,，，，,，,，,，,，,，，，！!！!！！！!！!！！!！！!！!！！ ķ（, ,''，'',''，'','','','',&#}}， ſaeae:ſºº.ººº， №. ſºț¢§§ ķae;#8i'w gºſº, ·,，，,-，-，-,-，-，-）， ±,±,±,±,±,±ſºſº?','','',''，'',''; & &, +， *）$" ）;§）， ≡ſae &#ffff;" ¿%） {§§§§§§）.! ;*）（.* º.º.º.， -.*¿¿.* ¿ } çº， №šºgº* √° √≠ ≠ ≤ ≥ ± − ×5 ： * （?: *） ≤ ∞.gaeaeºs （， * » } * ? , ！ %$§§§§§ Ķº.ſ.º.º. ſaeg§§¿¿.*¿¿•）， ,，,，,， ，ſºſº.s.）！\，aer,** &§§§:ſſa::::::：：::*…*..*§§§§ſº, ſ,º±%¿ -º º& & & & ...º.º.º.º.ºſº)， §§*）（.*）$'，ſºrºgº， º， && ！$（）; -¿?， º.ae§§- ，ſae:ſºſ. №ſſº ******* ?, ?, º.ſ.！ 33 ºſºs， ， ， ， ， ºs : , ***（º.ſ.· №ººº…º…º 3，33s';'， 'sºſyº, º „ºſºſvº;， ſºiſſºſ ſ.º.º.）*******;ÿ'， §§§: ，） și• „ºž º ± ... * * €)§ 3）&] §§§§§§ - （**）.*?ſae ſººs«; x） ≤ ∞& șíž （ ） ， ， ， （3） - §. * * * ·，≤ ≥ ≡ ≈！ ！ ！„',%s，%ſ，%ſ）'，* * * r （ ） -º.*¿¿.*¿¿.* ſaeae （?!！！！!！！！!ſae ſaeº，¿?, º.ſ.;&ºº.º.º.º.š， * * * * · * * *ºſſºsººººººº.ſ.¡ ¿l'aeº.';ºſº,?\* *（）;ſaeºs"， 4.ſ.§.ſiſſae;×: #Fſsſſſſſſº, ºſº-ºſº,¿[× ; + &（（*）*）* ºº-， ¿?&&&&&&&&��§§§§§§§§§§:'，''）;§, ■■■■| *） ）; - ….…….$（'#.sº： ， *…* ¿ ¿ aeſ，¿.*; ſº, ſpºſº， ºſſº, º ſae; º.º.,*）（?:.*.*.*.*）? Ķ ¿?§§§ ¿? ºſ și §:::： * * * ** 3 *****.***） &&&&& ¿§$%&'（）** && aerº， №8§ © ® & º q ‘’ſ， tº ºſ §§§ §§§* * *$' Ļº， ¡ ¿gºººººº… ！ §§§§§ſº:§:& ſ ≡%; } §.º.º.º.º.§§§.*¿.*º',$,?.►?:\ſ*）*ſºziº;*， -* ſ.¿? ş'fhºgº， №.3， :-（ ：-（（º, º.º， ，''，''，''，''，''）; ¿ ſae¿čºkºlº, ºſº ¿¿.*¿¿.¿¿.*¿ §§§§§§ $$$$$$$（'#';§§§§, №a），ſeº.ſ. *.*?）（ *）（.*¿¿.*¿?,- -- ~~~~ ~~~~¿ ¿?:§§§ſºſº;" ¿¿.*）aº,º）; - *...!！！！！！！！ šºšº， №ºae,，,，º：§¶√∞i'， 's· § :''，''，'',''，''）;ººº..ººº ! 8. § （ ）****, ….-， （±（√¶√∞'，¿?, º.º.，„º， |- ſae,，,，，,，,%，,，,，，,，， - º.º.º.， （*¿¿.* ſae;ſ ≡& w & ç ğ ş ţ ، ، ، ، ، ¿ºſº,??ae ：**į ， ， , º_{33} &****...*..* §§§§§§§§§§§§§ ********** • ** * * * * * * $（'sºe'，'º','！“vº，...，，，,，ſ ſš， * ?.*¿¿.¿ 、、。ſº;*， &#.**ſaeſº，,，,，,，， ſº.º.º.º.º.，?, º.º.º. *: *）（.*?）.*ºſ"， ſººſ ¿'a','s'）;× ;*， -*）*）*）*,，，,§§§§§ （ºſº sººſ ; * * * · * * * ſſſſſſſſſ！！！！！！!！！！“gºgº， ， ， ， º ſºſyº（）;¿¿.* : æ ， ， ， ， ， ， ， ， * .* ∞ √° √≠ ≤（šº （; *?， § ¶ ¡ ¿，,。 ， ， ， å ºſſ！ ， ！ſº: ， ， ， , ，• Lae |× §§;:§§§）, ſºn's'y',''，'','','',* # ： ; * ?, † ?£ € © * ģ Ķ ķ & ſi §©®°¶√∞',∞ √∞'， n. -& ºff （*^-..…. ºſ － :º º ：× · ° - ° ）• º aelº,№.~* º *ſº， ºſ §§ſae º’; &¿¿.*：（（?:àž.）:¿，:::::::::§§ſae‘, ‘º ‘,3,*,，，,，,，,%，，,，,， ſaeſº,".";¿::：:：:: ºſſ， ſ.ſ,º;$;'：·º·：·º·ſſºſae*„%“.º.º.ſaes.，.,，， sýslº №º'，'',''）;º &&"****Sºlº， ;“,“;$;':·º·：·º·：·º·ſr）： ¿º : ***aeſº， xºgº;º. & . & …º.º.º.º.º.---- 5,3 ± șiyº, №ºr'， ,''，'',''， º.º.ººº，，，，，,，， ſae¿¿.*¿¿..ș** : « ...!！!¿¿.*¿¿. $','','',''，''，'º',º 3 ** * ·， w: ſaeſ¿¿ ſae:！！！！!！!！！！§§ſ ∞§§§kºj, ſºº，، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ſae，¿§§§§）??，¿¿.|? º. ·§§ 0ſº:º：º:º）， º.ſ.Ģ ſºğ*（?， ¿ſº,º sºt，,，，,，，«№， º º.º.º.º.， №rſsºwº, º.º.ººº,，,，,，,，，•“, „“，*****） § ¶ ¡ ¿ -º,№ ſaº?”. *•*…*…*..*..*…*…！ º， ， ， ∞ √° *: *）*）*）?}}ſºſ: ¿¿.*,'º'， ，'',''）; }，& *** 3. x ≡º & ！§Ķae- ¿ $¢ £ € ：：::¿ ::::::::：::： ¿№ ºvºgº, f♭）.§§§§§ ¶ ¡ ¿¿.*$ §§§§§§ ºſſº， №.º.º.º.;* ，,"ae"：'º','！！！）.* f - ¿¿.*ſ.º.º.º.，§ 5; ， ; ， ！Ķs， ¿¿.* 23, №ºae∞ √°√°√3 ≠ 3.º ， ， ！ğ) ae ...º ae_É.żº， w.º.º.º.º.，$3* · * §§§§ ¶ ¡ ¿ × × × × × × × º x：º ： */ & № º§§§§§§§، §§§§≡ķ:§§§§§§§§§ſaeae:::：::::：:：}}ſ , '.，'， ，'','','',', ，''，'','','º','º'， «（.***;§§Ēģğ]ſae¿ ， ， ， ， ， ， ）ſaesſae:§ - ,ººº..ººº, º „º，$（'.*¿¿.* . ， jſºļº, º 3, *， *ſ*.*§ ¶ ¡ º ∞ √°.¿ §§f*** · *∞ √≠ √° √°¿??¿?，ſºrº， №vae”， ¿¿.*' »， ''）;s'pº ， ſ.ſ. §§§; :::*№§.º）（º）（º）（º） -§§§§§§§§§§§§§） iſ.）ſºſº; }'，''，''，''）;¿§ .*,,+.*¿.*）*）*）*）*; *, *） º.s. ，， ·¿ººs （,+,·，≤） §§§§§§） ***· B§;，& x'， ， ， º： *** 'pº.*¿¿.**gaeae, ſººſ, º *, ， ，， ， º sºlº, R）’.”， ſaeſae ¿:$$$$$$$¿¿.¿:::::}}};{¿.*¿¿. | №ſsae ¿.* §§§§§：：::::Ķ;E¿ſae§§§§§§¿*:'，¿ſae №�ſººſ¿::::：:“...ºſs.¿¿¿.* -§§§§§ſae§§§§）.Ķs:） - vº， №șºaeae º ſº ºſº**，·,≤）* z º.º.º. w ） *********.”, º ſe ſº, º， ， （*ſaeſº，ſaeºsº， ºſºzº，~ ſäſºnº, º ;（&'） （*）*）}}， · * * * * * · * * 7.， ， ， ſae§§§§£§.）， f（x）ſae.ºº:::ſtº…º.º.º.，*** ** ， , * 3.¿¿•¿*（.*;º） ！！！§§§+ }*）?（?:\）';&# $（'（↓）'，':'）; §;;;;;;;taeſſaeſºº， ::::::：：::::：::：:::：:::}›‹‹.：:：::：：：ſ.º.*?）$'，¿¿.*¿¿.*¿ſae § ¶ ¡ ¿& &aeº，ț¢∞§¶√∞, √æ√≠√∞º**º ſae.'，'',''，'o'， º.º.º.*¿¿.*）*）*）.*,， ſº;«）*, *）（.*¿.*& & & &2，3 · 3 · · ·™...*;ſºſº: º '， ;*,.º.º.º. - ſºs$$$$§§ķģſae”， „€.~ · ， ， ， ， ， Ō;;;;;;ģ¿?¿¿?¿?| *） „“， - - - - - - （ ） {· →§§ ¿（ºſſ）,，，,，，,，,，，。și º.º. •，，，，，，,，,，¿*：）*）*）*）*）*）*,，,,"ſaeſ.，.,，，,，，，,，,。、、、。 · . ***** -ſaeſº,º， ſaeiſae3，3 ≈ ¿§§§§§§§§¿¿.¿?.?.?.?. º.º.º.º.º.， §§§§ §§§)，§§§§§§§§§¿ ;:，::::：:：-::（（?:（?：%ſ'， ∞ √° ſ√≠√∞ √°.'，（?:','','s':'.',º*:）*）*）*， **, º §§§§yº，· g.ſae%）.ſae， ¿¿№sºrº, №w· ſ，º.º.º.º.， º.º.º.º."º.º.º.º.º. ,，ºº:：¿¿.*,** § ¶ • ¡ ¿¿sº, e•}',''）;· *）$. ſae ¿.*¿¿.*ſºgº;';'）; įºſº.º.º.º.º.º.º.º.º¿??¿?Łº 3. ſäſº，º.º.， （*.*¿¿. *¿¿. №gºmºſºſ§§§sººſºſºgae*， ！ 、;“ſº:"; ºſº, ºsº¿¿.* s’， ：, ’:’， ：（.*¿¿.* ºº, *）?）';$;'：·º·:·º·：·$ ſº º （.*）$;'：·º·：·º,*， ***§3;';ſ，|×- - „（.*）'，§.º.º.º.，----- ≡ºzºº.ººººsae*： *）（^&*）?）. '.*?）$',%jººº,，,^.*¿¿.*¿??¿?，º ： º „“.',%ſ，%ſ，%ſ， º·- · - - ≡“.*;，.ſ..ººº..ººº..ººº..ºººsº：;“.º.º.º.º.º.， №8- -ſae;,ººº..ººº..ºººſººſ:！ š …“，§¶√∞·} ·· ***șºyºº..ººº..#3 ſae，șº::：：:-（'：'）; }ſae ·∞∞∞∞∞¿*ș și :ſae;ſaeſ. |× · ¿Ōſºſ， aes, ºſſºſ,¿?zºſ ¿№ſ， × *%}}:§§§|×ſae;¿º.º.º.，，,%ſ）'}','';º * „º，¿ §§§ 、、ſae¿.*?）*）*）*）*,* º.º.º.,，,，，，，，，，%ſ，%ſ,%s'， ¿№ №ſsºſ ¿ ¿§ && （§§§§§§.??！!，,，№wºſº）， ººaeg¿¿. · ！！！!！！！！!！!！!！！！！!！！！ *Ķ-ſºſ，¿?§§§§§¿&.*¿¿.ſae§§§§）';'）;ºſaeºſ：;* ºº.ººº，,，。ºsºvººſa. %%;ºſ， ●·· -§§¿§§§§*、、、、、、、。¿*（?:%ſ（）'，ſaeº， º.º.º.º.， №ſſº." ¿? *º， že ſae;} §§§§§§،%），%s,%ſ，%ſ'， * « } »， ºg º.º.º. º.º.º. ， ， ， - ， .ae }，ſaeºsſaeſº,º;**§§§§！!！，,，,，,，¿%º;}' ;（.*?）（ *）（.*...，ſae ، ، ، ، ، ، & º ſº¿ºſºvº ſºgaeſº， º¿¿.*','！'}';§. ';';º ºſſºſ· ¿.*,*,，+.*¿¿.º§ 8ſae."， ºſºſ，§§·º·：·º·:·º·ſº;ºº.º.º.º.，，,"�ºſººſºſ;º）;};};"�::¿$;'：·ſae¿.*¿¿.* ſººr??！！！¿¿.*§§§§）kº，ſººſ : ¿?.*，,+.* ¿¿.*¿¿..*¿.*¿¿.*,*） º.º.º.º.，******）'，'：',''， ¿??¿aſſº¿*¿.*¿¿.* ſaeſº?∞ √≠√¶- +',''，''，''，''，''，''，¿¿.*¿¿.*¿º: ， ， ， ， ºſºğ，ººº..ººººº * ， ， ， ， ， ，&& ！ºſº**,*）*）*）*）^*，ſººſ aex， &ț¢yº pºgºnº; pºſaº， ſº: ·ſaeſaes? ¿¿.*¿.*（žr.）， „¿！ *** º ºſ r.¿¿.*№. ！ €. £&?#*）（?:?, ????? - ¿¿.*ſººſ aeſ.，.，，.，:.ſº¿¿.* .*,，,ºgºſ: º§§§§§§§§ 、、: №ſ ºſ - - ¿?，,，，,%,，,,（ ）º.ſ.¿.*}',''，'！“.º.º…’.*¿¿.sºzºa， rºgºwº.";∞ ، ، ، 3） （**）*）*）*） ºſ º*：）*）*）*）*）*§:：{، &&&&& Až£ € （Áº. · ſaesº： ;º）----، ، ، ، ،...º..ººº，，， ，'$. （№sſº ſ § wº ： ∞ √° š. Š º§ § 3º * * *¿.*¿¿.*¿¿. ſºğa'ºſſº;*&### ț¢º：& &ſºț¢º.º.º.º.º.º.****.*）*）*）*）*）*）* šºgº.º.º.， ：, º ae********¿¿.aeș:*（.*）$$$$$$$$ ſaeż º.º.º.º.º.º.， ¿?|×aerºsº， ¿?, ¿sºlºſſº |×）'， º ：¿?,， （±√（√¶ ■■■■ gaeaeº??*（?:）?（?:（.*（??ſſ? （-: ， Jº， ſ.º.º.º.º.º.， aſſº,º »， ， ， ， ， ！ ¿¿.* ： ！ !！ !！ % ！！ （.*; *（;$;':·º, º§§§§§），* ， ， ， , ，§. （ſ.º.º.· gºsº º aerºſº， º šºlº ; ： ， ; * ſyſaeº.',º）;}， §¶√∞'， |！§§，,，,%ſ，%ſ）'，ºgºj，§§§）.ſaeaelº, .& . \，ſºº， -ç. ¿pºsſºvº; * * * { ºzºnº， º· §§§§##'， ,''，- ș， ■■■■■ ■∞ √° √° ſ√≠√∞, &¿¿.° W. • w： . （， º.º. ºſº, º.º. §:ºſºſººſ：sºrſ, ſº;*,*,**（?:ſººſ ºſº§§§）º.º.;&"）;w : ' *：ſº.¿?,?,！ſ.*¿¿.*, *） º.º.， „¿.*¿¿.* （±,±）， |- ſºſiºſº， ¿?， º'， ,，.，，，，，%ſ）'，× × × × × × × × × ::： ******º ： *** ¿??¿?，" ſſ : （.*） ≤ ∞ §§§§§§）;§§§ 、、、、、、:’, ：， ’：’， ：，：§§ſ:::::::：:::ſaeſ -º.º§§§§::Œ œ Œ*:š （）№º.º.º. （4)¿… ķ. ， ， ， ， .ºr}§§§· gaeaeſºſ,ºſſºſ ± &**~ -：¿¿.*?）（$*$,?，！，：， % （**）ſaeº. №ſſº;* ^&*）?）¿??¿?ºğw 'º. !！ %ſs : ·~*...* **ſº, ¿！！！,，, Œ Œ œŒ œ∞∞∞ ，5) #*）*）*ſae & & & * & * * * * * * *ſy'√°√°',''，''，'ſ'）;'）;" ºgſå §§¿.*¿¿.* ·ſaeſºț¢,$№ºłį §§§§ ºſº,?,！?;ºſſºsſººſ ºſsº，*№ſ:%;， ºg, *; ** g¿? * }*****£; £§§ſºſiºſae §§ºț¢ ſae:* º *aerſſſsſsſsſsſſſſſ¿??¿ ， ！. ºſº a 8 ¿ș.aeſaesaeae; §§� *$'，''，'#'）;ſaeſº','','','º',º¿ſ,' , ， ;'.*¿.* ſae: && .*¿¿.*;ſae §§§§§ ſºſ, ſãº： ¿*¿?ſººſºvº, º- - - ſº, （¿?， ¿ſiſ &， #. ſaeſ， ¿∞ √≠√¶ ſae:*№ſſºſº，，,，,，，ºſeſsºſº,'','','',º- ∞ √¿.*.* * · · · · ·：ſae, ºs º, º„№, º ¿º §;&aejººkſ ºſºſ�|×;º）ſ㧧§§º.º., V;';';§§¿.*¿.*§§§£ſaeſ? ¿:::::::::::::::& & \，，,，,…， ¿eſ¿ſºº,"."，*：',！ºſºiſsº.º.º.º.}§.'，ſ',"jºyºſº*（）;• №vºſ.&&&&&&& º. §§Ķ;¿'ae ::::：:::№ſº.ſ.ſſſſſſſſſſ，ºsſºſ;ſe，¿?„№ț¢）.‘‘;&.º.º.，¿¿??¿sº:¿¿.¿§¶√∞i√∞',- ºſº.º.º.，#*）（.*§¶√∞',¿ （ſººſ§§§§§%：ſae;§§o','',''）;§§§§Ķ¿№raeſººſ №ſae:¿¿.*ſae:.*,，,，, ·ºsº,º！ķ"№：§§ % （***، ،&.**'; №* º *■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ſae） š：· · ·：*¿.*¿ șº ț¢， 28ſýč ſ'. - ;º， & ſ（f，º），& &º¿、、。、、。（.*..* - ffaeº siº ： » :∞ √° √°√∞.', § （3） *****ſae ſaeº （ſ.º.º.º.º.º.¿?.*„ºſºſ，{ ſ.·&'，'#';*,*）*）*）*）* gael§§§）?（, ***， ， ， ， ， ， º∞ √3，& ſ & & & & ºſ § ' ， , ，∞ √° ſ√≠√∞'，§， , ， ， §， №:8 ， ！ſaeſae №º'， ，''，'','',A“，A'，'：',''，'',ſººſ：§ 4. ºžeº， §§§）,º§§§§§§§§§.** .*¿¿.*¿¿.*¿?ſaesº，,，,，，sºrº） §§§ ¿¿.*¿¿.w ºſºa， 23;&{x} + （ $（'#'， ●¿¿.*Ķ§ ¶ ¡ ¿¡ ¿ · ſºſyº.！！.*¿¿.¿¿.*ae gaeae zºtºwº， º， **º.¿ſ:, ， ********ſ gººſ -**）?）*,，,。，,，。ºſ, ºſº， E. º ， ！ 3vº， ●º：№，∞ √° a√∞ √ §§§ ::：:：:::::::::：ſººſ, º§§ſaeſſaesºļº,“, º.º.º.º.，?,！,、、 ſºſº,?,！,：, ’:’}}};º）∞šº¿? ſae§§§ſaeºſ &};aeſſae × × ¿ſae ; « - slºw，ſeº;ſº…º… （¿º*; */… &}; maeºſº，,ººº，） ¿¿.*sº： :： §§§ 3;šķº ¿* :« （; ， ;y ¿ $¢ £ €e“， º， ø § ¶ • ¡ ¿！ ， , *& & №. º§ ¶ ¡ ¿ £* & \}y'（?:（?：）?（.*）$'， -¿- ¿≡ aeraeº：sºſiºſº, ºſ ſaeº.º.º.º.º.，， ， ， ， ， ★ ★ → 4 №. º.º.， ſ. » №， ºšſºț¢¿ §§§§§§§§ſae: ， ¿sº é， ¿ e ¡ ¿ †+'， *'№. ！! ！! ！！ ！! ſºr' ） ） * * * · * * * ， ， ſºțºſ， ¿¿ ~--~--~，¿{§;&żğ Ķs &#'（&º,º, º· ≡“.º.º.，！ }&. ，¿¿.*）? №. ！！！ « … （ . ） §§©®°¶ ¡ ¿ §§& · ¿！ 3* *¿ 、、、、、。ģºſ （ ;&*） ∞;&#;&].* # №w （ſłºw.✉ @ ： » «， * * * * * W » +ſº ſ · * * · * ? kººſſae¿č. ¿§:ſſ."， §§§§§§ ſae¿- £ . . , *- ！ Lº,'','','','',）; * :«，∞ √° ººſſ.º.º.º.ſaesſºyºaeae） šrºſ“ }¿¿§§§§§§¿（º.ſ.º.º.,，¿:§§§8¿¿ \§§§§§§§::::::::：¿§§§§ §§ ¿¿.*;;+.*$'§, №8 ;*.*;;+.*¿¿.*¿¿.*$ $（'#'; % ķ$ $,?...！!!· **************sºſ， ¿.*¿¿t º.*:）*）*）* ſae șºſ$¿¿.*¿¿.*ſ ≡s xºgº）. № *、、、、、、、、、 ！ €.（*,*）， §§ ¿& & & & ¿ſeº， ， ， ， ， ，JºJº. №， №sſº, ſºº§.º.º.3 ："…º.º.º.）ſaeº，� aºs"！！.º.º.º.*¿¿.* ſaeĶķ;… ：-） ---- · -¿·¿? ¿ºſºr，&& zºº.º. ſaeſae'.'，'s'）;ſaei ،º . : º * （ （（~！ ± % · §§§§§§§） ***&& z§§ 3) § ſä�ſ ºſ ſºț¢ ¿（.?.?.?）（.*¿¿.*¿¿ $！ ！！*， ∞ſºſyº， aerºſ?…}}± ſºº，ſºſiºſſſſſſſsſſſſſſºſ · （*,*）（.*）$$$$$;º） ！ķºșºaeae§§§§§§§©®°¶√≠√≠√∞ && ！$（'&$ $ $****.*¿¿.*¿?， ¿º. & ſ. - . &.ſſſſſsſſſſſ！”....º.º.º. ſºnº, ſaeºſº），ſaeº， ¿№， º，§§2ººººº,，,，,*};}， §§ ø ±k;}' +saeº，，,，.,：.，,，.*¿¿.*'， ¿ſ.º.º.， ，、 $$$$$§į， .§§§§§ſpºſºšķºſ ſãº： ，，，，。#：;¿ºſºſae¿¿;;¿*,*\ſ*：）*）*）ϧ§ſae¿& - & & $, ºſº$ $ %Ķ（ºº）§§§§ſºſy§§§§§§| № ¿¿¿¿?ſaevº！”."， *,*ſºłºżºnº， „ºrºſº;¿¿.*、、、、、、、) ·¿، * № : & ſººſ -¿?§§§§§§§§º， §, №ſ į:ſaeſſaeºſae¿¿.98%$■ ' «»， † ¿?, ſº žº.º.º.º.º.º.º.º.， ，„"，"¿ºſº§§ ſ'， 'ſ'， 'g'）, sºº § 3） $（'#*y（x）、、、。ſº;'，¿ ¿§$%^%$%§§§§§ſaeaeae.98%），%ſ，%ſ，%ſ， ¿№ſſº，ſaeſ，¿? ſºwºsº）： ***** * * 3. 'º ¿??¿ ¿«… ; :::* 3，888）;}§§§§§§ģ¿º，pºººººaegaeº，、、、、、、 ~∞¿.*¿¿.*?（ºſº; →¿ºſ， ---- și șipºgºșºrº， №ºae，· §§§§¿gaeae ae §¶√≠√≠√¶§§§§§），§§≡£ €∞ √ √ ţgº º ···% º’r ael，& ſ.ſ.● Ľcaeº;*i º.º.， º tº § ¶ ¡ ¿ \ №. ！！!ſae， - ț¢ £ €ſae.* #，#*（?：{{！}};{{#§§§§§§§§§§šºy.≡ſaeſſaeºſ?, ¿?¿**šķaeſ ）;&, # ¿C,。、、。（.***{} ¿?, º.aeſº，، ، ، ، ، ، ∞ √° ‚ ſ■ > ■ ſſſſsſſſſſſ！！！&&º : （ → ）， ，§§§:ſſaeº， §©®§§§§§§§:§§§§§&##ģºšſaºſººſ ºſſºſ-ſºſ， šķſº $ $ ¢&ğrae）; , ,''，'','...º.º. gaeº，ſº? ¿? » e « ¿¿.*..*..*..* ¿ae .* * §§§§§§§©®° ſºſyº.！！！！！！%%%%"）！?!?;：ķae§§§§§§§§§§§¿¿.*¿¿.*}）; ºg ſj ;º. && ！ºſº，ſ.º.º.）? （‘¿?, º. ș ， **} ¿¿.§§§§§ſ! Ķºšķº.ºººººÃ§§§§§§§ſaeſº,ºżº$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$¿??¿ ¿ſº…！！!！!！§ ø, º -（***）*）*）*）*）*)*）*± − × ¿§§§：ſſä，ſſſſsſs'，'$'}，¿ſºn¿ § §§ſaeſº， №8 §§§§§§· ș. №ț¢;º）3 * * · £; ſae;&#ffffff;"№ſae( 3 }§§§Ř¿ 3 %， ， ， ， ºg 38.3 și· ...º.º.º.º.: №x{ſ}）} ş” º （，，，，，，，，，，，，} $$$$$$§§§#888ķī£§§§§§§ț¢ £§!¿ſaeſ?··· ·¿?::：:：:：:::：:::§§¿?sºº.ººº..º§§§}）;§:-¿ ſaeºſºſ，·№w （ſººſſºſiaeºſ?§ºſ ： ≈（,，，,，，ºae'√°√°√≠√¶ & * ș ș****ºſº， ſºſº,，，，，，，，,: ¿¿ºſº,º„º，,，。、、。 €.sſſſſſſſſſſ§§§¿.*¿¿.*¿¿.*§§§§§§¿<.››sººſ：∞ √∞§ § ø § （3）3，3s ſ'; `ºſ ſae§§§§§§§ ſºšºſ， Ķī£∞ ¿¿.*¿¿.*¿ºſſºſ'，ſ'，€. §§§§ſaeae§§§§§§§§§£ © ® : ）****， *ſ*）（.*¿¿.*& & \，\！ ， ！º ，§§§*? § & & \，§.º.º.º.， 13;ºſ， 、、、。、、、。* ¿¿.*..*§§§§§¿§¶√∞.'，、、、、、、、、ſºj §：ſſä ºſº;&&*）*）}}§¶√°√∞¿¿.¿;», ºgſå§3 ºſº.“, º.ſ.fºſſº， ¿ºſºſ -aeſ， º¿¿.*¿¿.*;§§§§§∞·.*,，+，+,+，+,3,*，·，≤） §§§¿§§§§§§§§¿?**********saeºſae¿¿.* ſº;º- ſ’; ‘a’ºſi， º， ſºšº， ºſ ſººſ§§§§§©®.ſaeſº，¿??¿ $¢ £ €§§§§§2ºº3， ¿********、、。§§*ae ： gºgº， º.º.， } （}， ）; eae，¿?ſaevºaeſaeº，ſae§§§§§§ ， ，§§ſae， ，****¿***ſaeſyº ：*******¿¿.*¿¿. -∞ 2.） ~ Ķ:（","）;sºſy; ·！ *******¿¿.*; ¿ $¢įº，º）;*（?:\,，■ ■ paeſyº;ſ§§§¶√∞∞∞}}ſaeſſae§§§§§;* ț¢&###8ſae！ ·¿sae aegaeºaeſae ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ، ،Èſ ！}{（n）}（?:.*）',ººg¿¿ {≡ +3， jºjº¿¿.*ſº（ae”，m.¿?¿¿.*\， ， §§§§ }¿¿.*ſaeſtºț¢&%$§ （ºſ © ： ， ，¿¿.*¿¿.ººººººº（№º!！?!！?！！?！！?ſae¿?¿:：:::::::::::::::：::::::::::Ķī£®·ºſº，??）;ſae · §§§§§§§§§§§№ſsºſ ¿ºíš, * · * *¿??¿º;&º¿§§（3）}（ſ）: §§§）.}^*}***， ſ°,§§§§§§§§§ §§§§§; }} ：¿ſae¿ſºsº， №vº，¿??¿?«№ſſºſº，šºlº ºsºrº,º）;'，¿¿.*）$/， ¿??¿?. ¿?ſºgaeſ. №ſſºſ***） ſaei§$%$§§§§§¿? §§§§ſººſ************* .*;;+,3,*）$';（.*）$'）;¿ſ ≡ : 4，8 %ºº.ººººoºººººººººººººººº、ſº，，,*,* aesº， ºſºrº****§§ ¿??¿¿.*;.aeſºſaeº, ºſ i ſº: ¿< №， º 3 ſ ſ. №§ 8） &?#*）№. 4 （ ） ;*ț¢&& ſ）;*， -*）$.º;*§§§§“š”, “¿?，¿?,?，！,：， ſº º （x, º.ſ.*（?：（?:！ 3 |×：pae“ ， §§§§**ſaeſºšºſ}，¿?¿¿.;*） *（）;.. '：）?（?:\\ſ*¿§¶√∞i√∞',£ €ſº（aeſºſ，¿¿.*; Ķķ， ș* ſaeſaeºs;¿§"， º.ºš¿pºſſº;**,*\ſ*$'& s.nºgºrº，„Rae¿•）›› ‹‹.sae§§§§§§§§ 8 ¿¿?ſºſºſ，¿¿.* §§§§¿¿.; ， ， ,'$'%ſ，% șaeº，ºſºſ （ºººººººººººººº！∞&&¿¿ { §¶√ºſº aº¿?¿?№， º §§§§§§§§§§§§§ ț¢，。 ∞º_0， 0.s.¿ |×！！！！！！！！！！！ſº-ſº-ºſae¿?∞ √≠ √≠ √° ∞ }§§§§§§§§§§§ §¶√∞¿?ſaeº， *：（.*¿¿. ¿?,，,，。 ¡ ¿№gº,*，*）*）*）ẅºººººººgſ.， ſ. 、、、。、、、。§§§§§§§§§ §. * ſ'，∞}}}% （* 3. ∞∞∞ §§§¿ aerºſº（±√（√（'º'，'e'¿¿.* p ：sſſſſſſ！！！§§§§§§§§§ №wºsº，??!！！&aeº§§§§§§§）， º ae，№.3，∞ Ķ ķ Ļ§§§º， ，Sae;¿+'）'）） { ¿§§ § ¶ ¡ ¿§§¿¿.*:：:：::：：：:： § § ¶ ¡ ¿ ■ ■ ■ . *******®pº;* * ·，≤）&（?！< §§§§§§§§§§§ #*（?："ſae¿¿.*ſaesae§§§§§§§ ſſºſ · ſaeſ? ¿¿.*& ！ºğº：- ſ.ſ.（.*?）$';:º 3:3,5;”ſaeae ! ±ſae ae§§§§§§§§§ ſaeſaesſae; ſae ſae aeſ;ſº, ºſº¿?.?）\ſ*,*\ſ*,*;， **çº （*.*- ¿¿.*ș，ſººſ »& & &º ¿?✉§§§§§§§ç`ſ§§§§§ §§§ §;;;;;;;，，，，。¿ķ;§§§§$$$$$$ §$%&'（）*,，，，¿? *（ 2.） */r.&~-ģº ºº ſ.º.º）（º）（º）-gº ºgºrºſºſ，¿¿.*§§§§§§¿?ſºſyº， }，¿ § ¶-¿º sºg.№.4 ± % ::::：：::::：:：:：:：:¿！ſaeſº; } ſaeķºſ ： & ſ & Wſae§§ -ș al% lº ：· ¿¿.ſaevae¿¿.* & *.*¿¿.§§§§§§§§§：¿§§§§） º. ·¿ ¿ºſ y ſººſ ºsºșºaeae-、、、、、、、、、、、、、 ¿??¿¿.*§§§§§§§šºnº，ſiſſae¿§§§§§¡ ¿ §¶√°√°√≠√∞ ģſaeº…ººº· - ¿§ → · §§§§§§§§§§§ºº：:§§§§§§§§§§¿§§§§§&#§ 3 sºſ，§§！ºſºšºvºſ?,?,！，:ſae， -.*¿.*sſsſſsſsſſ！！！ſº, №. ！ºººººººº（*）（$*$'（ſºłº， ºãº，w №wºſº;∞ √§¶√∞≡¿ſº??！!！！！！！¿?， ¿ ¿ ſºț¢（x（i，:））; pºgº§§ （* * * * *_* ！ №wºſº），¿.*¿¿.*）*）*）*）*）*）*ſººººººaeae§§§§§§§¿? -¿（.*¿.*ſae;ſ§§§§§§§;º;）（.*¿¿. §*? ſr$.， （±■ ■ ¿æ， ， ，ſºrºzº; † ¿?,ſºţ， ‹› ‹‹.§§§§§）， ae aeſae::::::::::::::::::::::::::§§§ķ$šķķ （№ſVºrºșºi șºsº， №8ſaeºſ，§§§§§§§¶√∞§§§§¿¿ →≡ſaeae ſae§§§§§§§§）， jºſſaeºſº.º.º.§§§§¿§©®.§§§§§ * №tº &ºſ, aerº;ſº:№.ſ. și ſº ſãº：§§§§§§§§§§§¿??¿?§§§::::：::::ºffſ§§§¿? rº. * …:…'， ）; ¿??¿¿.* 4.· - ~--~¿∞ºſſae§§§§§§§ ¿?ſaeºs§§§§§§§§§ſae;¿ × × ×£;*，*）， §.» （«º« （» «）.*¿¿. ¿¿ſº， × × ×ſae };};};$$$$$$$$$$¿ -¡ ¿|（§§§º.º.º.）. №§§§§§§ - ºſº， ſºnº----gaeaeſºgºșºaeae， !\，,，，，，，。∞ √° ºgſº ºſſ！！！！！！！！ sae aesſae¿?, ¿ ¿s