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'^^i::??^ 
 
 H)ici§ ^cidltF-ttfi'i Lijferpiif^f. K 
 
 BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 
 
 rr22 ^roHbfoan. 
 
LITTLE RUDY 
 
 AND OTHER STORIE S. 
 
 BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANl^ERSEN. 
 
 Ulustrattb. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 PUBLISHED BY JAMES MILLER, 
 
 (rUCCESSOK TO C. S. FRANCIS & CO.) 
 
 622 BROADWAY 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Little Rudy 11 
 
 The Journey to the New Home 24 
 
 The Uncle 33 
 
 Babette 41 
 
 On the Way Home 58 
 
 The Visit to the MUl 62 
 
 The Eagle's Nest 69 
 
 What more the Parlor Oat had to Tell 75 
 
 The Ice-Maiden's Scorn of Mankiad 79 
 
 The Godmother 83 
 
 The Cousin 88 
 
 Evil Powers 92 
 
 At the Miller's House 98 
 
 Night Visions 102 
 
 The Conclusion 106 
 
 696741 
 
10 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 The Bttttekflt 116 
 
 PSTOIIE 121 
 
 The Snail akd the Rosebush 145 
 
 Twelve by the Mail. . , , 150 
 
 A Rose from the Grave of Homer 158 
 
 The Racers 163 
 
LITTLE RUDY. 
 
 i)ET us pay a visit to Switzerland. Let 
 us look around us in that magnificent 
 mountainous country, wliere the woods 
 creep up the sides of the precipitous 
 walls of rock ; let us ascend to the daz- 
 zling snow-fields above, and descend 
 again to the green valleys beneath, 
 where the rivers and the brooks foam along as 
 if they were afraid that they should not fast 
 enough reach the ocean and be lost in its im- 
 mensity. The sun's burning rays shine on the 
 deep dales ; and they also shine upon the heavy 
 masses of snow above, so that the ice-blocks 
 which have been accumulating for years melt 
 and become rolling avalanches, piled-up gla- 
 ciers. Two such lie in the broad mountain 
 clefts under Schreckhorn and Wetterhom, near 
 the little mountain town of Grindelwald. They 
 are wonderful to behold, and therefore in sum- 
 
12 LITTLE KTJDT. 
 
 mer-time many strangers come here from every 
 foreign land. They come over the lofty snow- 
 covered hills; they come through the deep 
 valleys, and from thence for hours and hom*s 
 they must mount ; and always, as they ascend, 
 the valleys seem to become deeper and deeper, 
 until they appear as if viewed from a balloon 
 high up in the air. The clouds often hang like 
 thick heavy curtains of smoke around the lofty 
 mountain peaks, while down in the valley, 
 where the many brown wooden houses lie scat- 
 tered about, a bright ray of the sun may be 
 shining, and bringing into strong relief some 
 brilliant patch of green, making it look as if it 
 were transparent. The waters foam and roar 
 as they rush along below — they mm*mur and 
 tinkle above. They look, up there, like silver 
 ribbons streaming down over the rocks. 
 
 On both sides of the ascendmg road lie 
 wooden houses. Each house has its little po- 
 tato garden, and this is a necessity ; for within- 
 doors yonder are many mouths — the houses are 
 crammed with children — and children often 
 waste their food. From all the cottages they 
 sally forth in swarms, and throug round travel- 
 lers, whether these are on foot or in carriages. 
 The whole troop of children are little merchants 
 
LITTLE ETJDT. 13 
 
 — they offer for sale charming toy wooden 
 houses, models of the dwellings one sees here 
 among the mountains. Whether it he fair 
 weather or foul, the crowds of children issue; 
 forth with their wares. 
 
 Some twenty years ago occasionally stood 
 here, but always at a short distance from the 
 other children, a little hoy, who was alsO' 
 ready to engage in trade. He stood with an 
 earnest, grave expression of countenance, and 
 holding his deal-box fast with both his hands, 
 as if he were afraid of losing it. The very earn- 
 estness of his face, and his being such a little 
 fellow, caused him to be remarked and called 
 forward, so that he often sold the most — he did 
 not himself know why. Higher up among the 
 hills lived his maternal grandfather, who cut 
 out the neat pretty houses, and in a room up yon- 
 der was an old press full of all sorts of things — 
 nut-crackers, knives, forks, boxes with very pret- 
 tily carved leaf-work, and springing chamois : 
 there was every thing to please a child's eye. 
 But the little Rudy, as he was called, looked 
 with greater interest and longing at the old 
 fire-arms and other weapons which were hung 
 up under the beams of the roof. " He should 
 have them some day," said his grandfather, 
 2 
 
14 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 ■^^ when he was big enough and strong enough to 
 ■make use of them." Young as the boy was, he 
 was set to take care of the goats ; and he who 
 had to clamber after them was obhged to keep 
 a good look-out, and to be a good climber. 
 And Rudj was an excellent climber ; he even 
 went higher than the goats, for he was fond of 
 seeking for birds' nests up among the tops of 
 the trees. Bold and adventurous he was, but 
 no one ever saw him smile, excej^t when he 
 stood near the roaring cataract or heard the 
 thunder of a rolling avalanche. He never 
 played with the other children — he never went 
 near them, except when his grandfather sent 
 him down to sell the things he made. And 
 Rudy did not care much for that ; he preferred 
 scrambling about among the mountains, or sit- 
 ting at home with his grandfather, and hearing 
 him tell stories of olden days, and of the peo- 
 ple near by at Meyringen, from whence he 
 came. " This tribe had not been settled there 
 from the earliest ages of the world," he said ; 
 " they were wanderers from afar ; they had come 
 from the distant Xorth, where their race still 
 dwelt, and were called ' Swedes.' " This was a 
 great deal for Rudy to learn, but he learned 
 more from other som'ces, and these were the 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 15 
 
 animals domiciled in the liouse. One was a 
 large dog, Ajola, a legacy from Kudy's father — 
 the other a tomcat. Rudy had much for which 
 to thank the latter — ^he had taught him to climb. 
 
 " Come out upon the roof with me !" the cat 
 had said, distinctly and intelligibly ; for when 
 one is a young child, and can scarcely speak, 
 fowls and ducks, cats and dogs, are almost as 
 easily understood as the language that fathers 
 and mothers use. One must be very little in- 
 deed then, however ; it is the time when grand- 
 papa's stick neighs, and becomes a horse with 
 head, legs, and tail. 
 
 Some children retain these infantine thoughts 
 longer than others ; and of these it is said that 
 they are very backward, exceedingly stupid 
 children — people say so much ! 
 
 "Come out upon the roof with me, little 
 Kudy !" was one of the fii'st things the cat said, 
 and Rudy understood him. 
 
 "It is all nonsense to fancy one must fall 
 down; you won't fell uuless you are afraid. 
 Come! set one of your paws here, the other 
 there, and take care of yourself with the rest 
 of your paws ! Keep a sharp look-out, and be 
 active in your limbs ! If there be a hole, spring 
 over it, and keep a-firm footing, as I do." 
 
16 LITTLE RUDY. 
 
 And so also did little Rudy ; often and often 
 lie sat on the slielving roof of the house with the 
 cat, and often too on the tops of the trees ; but 
 he sat also higher up among the towering rocks, 
 which the cat did not ffequent. 
 
 " Higher ! higher !" said the trees and the 
 bushes. " Do you not see how we climb 
 up — to what height we go, and how fast we 
 hold on, even among the narrowest points of 
 rock ?" 
 
 And Rudy gained the top of the hill earlier 
 than the sun had gained it ; and there he took 
 his morning draught, the fresh invigorating 
 mountain aii- — that drink which only our Loed 
 can prepare, and which mankind pronounces to 
 be the early fragrance from the mountain herbs, 
 and the wild thyme and mint in the valley. 
 All that is heavy the overhanging clouds ab- 
 sorb within themselves, and the winds carry 
 them over the pine woods, wliile the spirit of 
 fragrance becomes air — light and fresh ; and 
 this was Rudy's morning draught. 
 
 The sunbeams — those daughters of the sun, 
 who bring blessings with them — kissed his 
 cheeks ; and dizziness stood near on the watch, 
 but dared not approach him ; and the swallows 
 from his grandfather's house beneath (there 
 
JTl^^ 
 
 The Young (Toaiherd. 
 
LITTLE KUDY. 17 
 
 were not less tlian seven nests) flew up to Mm 
 and the goats, singing, " We and you, and you 
 and we !" They brought him greetings from 
 his home, even from the two hens, the only 
 birds in the establishment, though Rudy was 
 not intimate with them. 
 
 Young as he was, he had travelled, and 
 travelled a good deal for such a little fellow. 
 He was born in the Canton of Yalais, and 
 brought from thence over the hills. He had 
 visited on foot Staubbach, that seems like a 
 silver veil to flutter before the snow-clad, glit- 
 tering white mountain Jungfrau. And he had 
 been at the great glaciers near Grindelwald, 
 but that was connected with a sad event ; his 
 mother had found her death there, and there, 
 his grandfather used to say, "little Rudy had 
 got all his childish merriment knocked out of 
 him." Before the child was a year old, "he 
 laughed more than he cried," his mother had 
 written ; but from the time that he fell into the 
 crevasse in the ice, his disposition had entirely 
 changed. The grandfather did not say much 
 about this in general, but the whole hill knew 
 the fact. 
 
 Rudy's father had been a postilion, and the 
 large dog who now shared Rudy's home had 
 2* 
 
18 LITTLE r;iroT. 
 
 always accompanied him in liis journeys over 
 the Simplon down to the Lake of Geneva. 
 Eudy's kindred on his father's side lived in the 
 valley of the Rhone, in the Canton Yalais ; his 
 uncle was a celebrated chamois-hunter, and a 
 well-known Alpine guide. Hudy was not more 
 than a year old when he lost his father ; and 
 his mother was anxious to return with her 
 child to her own family in the Bernese Ober- 
 land. Her father dwelt at the distance of a 
 few hom-s' journey from Grindelwald ; he was 
 a carver in wood, and he made so much by this 
 that he was very well ofi". 
 
 Cari'ying her infant in her arms, she set out 
 homewards in the month of June, in company 
 with two chamois-hunters, over the Gemmi to 
 reach Grindelwald. They had accomplished 
 the greater portion of the journey, had crossed 
 the highest ridges to the snow-fields, and could 
 already see her native valley, with all its well- 
 known scattered brown cottages ; they had now 
 only the labor of going over the upper part of 
 one great glacier. The snow had recently fall- 
 en, and concealed a crevasse — not one so deep 
 as to reach to the abyss below where the water 
 foamed along, but deeper far than the height of 
 :any human being. The young woman who 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 19 
 
 was carrjing lier infant slipped, sank in, and 
 suddenly disappeared ; not a shriek, not a groan 
 was heard — nothing but the crying of a little 
 child. Upwards of an hour elapsed before her two 
 companions were able to obtain from the nearest 
 house ropes and poles to assist them in extri- 
 cating her ; and it was with much difficulty and 
 labor that they brought up from the crevasse 
 two dead bodies, as they thought. Every means 
 of restoring animation was employed, and they 
 were successful in recalling the child to life, 
 but not the mother ; and so the old grandfather 
 received into his house, not a daughter, but a 
 daughter's son — the little one who " laughed 
 . more than he cried." But a change seemed to 
 have come over him since he had been in the 
 glacier-spalten — in the cold underground ice- 
 world, where the souls of the condemned are 
 imprisoned until Doom's day, as the Swiss peas- 
 ants assert. 
 
 IS'ot unlike a imshing stream, frozen and 
 pressed into blocks of green crystal, lies the 
 glacier, one great mass of ice balanced upon 
 another ; in the depths beneath tears along the 
 accumulating stream of melted ice and snow ; 
 deep hollows, immense crevasses, yawn within 
 it. A wondrous palace of crystal it is, and in 
 
20 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 it dwells tlie Ice-maiden — the qneen of the gla- 
 ciers. She, the slayer, the crusher, is half the 
 mighty ruler of the rivers, half a child of the 
 air ; therefore she is able to soar to the highest 
 haunts of the chamois, to the loftiest peaks 
 of the snow-covered hills, where the boldest 
 mountaineer has to cut footsteps for himself in 
 the ice ; she sails on the slightest sprig of the 
 pine-tree over the raging torrents below, and 
 bounds lightly from one mass of ice to another, 
 with her long snow-white hair fluttering about 
 her, and her bluish-green robe shining like the 
 water in the deep Swiss lakes. 
 
 "To crush — to hold fast — such power is 
 mine!" she cries; "yet a beautiful boy was 
 snatched from me — a boy whom I had kissed, 
 but not kissed to death. He is again among 
 mankind ; he tends the goats upon the moun- 
 tain heights ; he is always climbing higher and 
 higher still, away, away from other human be- 
 ings, but not for me ! He is mine — I wait for 
 him !" 
 
 And she commanded Yertigo to undertake 
 the mission. It was in summer-time ; the Ice- 
 maiden was melting in the green valley where 
 the wild mint grew, and Yertigo mounted and 
 dived. Yertigo has several sisters, quite a fl.ock 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 21 
 
 of tliem, and tlie Ice-maiden selected the strong- 
 est among the many who exercise their powers 
 within doors and without — those who sit on 
 the banisters of steep staircases and the outer 
 rails of lofty towers, who bound like squirrek 
 along the mountain ridges, and springing thence, 
 tread the air as the swimmer treads the water, 
 and lure their victims onward, down to the 
 abyss beneath, 
 
 Yertigo and the Ice-maiden both grasp after 
 mankind, as the polypus grasps after all that 
 comes within its reach. Yertigo was to seize 
 Rudy. 
 
 " Seize him, indeed !" cried Yertigo ; " I 
 cannot do it ! That good-for-nothing cat has 
 taught him its art. Yon child of the human 
 race possesses a power within himself which 
 keeps me at a distance. I cannot reach the 
 little urchin when he hangs from the branches 
 out over the depths below, or I would will- 
 ingly loosen his hold, and send him whirling 
 down thi'ough the air. But I cannot." 
 
 " "We must seize him, though !" said the Ice- 
 maiden, " either you or I ! I will — I will !" 
 
 " jSTo — no !" broke upon the air, like a moun- 
 tain echo of the church-bell's peal ; but it was 
 a whisper, it was a song, it was the liquid tones 
 
23 LITTLE EUDY, 
 
 of a chorus from other spirits of nature — mild, 
 soft, and loving, the daughters of the rajs oi 
 the sun. Tliej station themselves every even- 
 ing in a circle upon the moimtain-peaks, and 
 spread out their rose-tinted wings, which, as 
 the sun sinks, become redder and redder, until 
 the loftj Alps seem all in a blaze. Men call 
 this the Alpine glow. When the sun has sunk, 
 they retire within the white snow on the crests 
 of the hills, and sleep there until sunrise, when 
 they come forth again. Much do they love 
 flowers, butterflies, and mankind ; and among 
 the latter they had taken a great fancy for little 
 Budy. 
 
 " You shall not imprison him — you shall not 
 get him !" they sang. 
 
 " Greater and stronger have I seized and im- 
 prisoned," said the Ice-maiden. 
 
 Then sang the daughters of the sun of the 
 wanderer whose hat the whii'lwind tore from 
 his head, and carried away in its stormy flight. 
 The wind could take his cap, but not the man 
 himself — no, it could make him tremble with 
 its violence, but it could not sweep him away. 
 " The human race is stronger and more ethe- 
 real even than we are ; they alone may mount 
 higher than even the sun, our parent. They 
 
LITTLE KUDY. 23 
 
 know the magic words that can rule the wind 
 and the waves so that they are compelled to 
 obey and to serve them. You loosen the 
 heavy oppressive weight, and they soar up- 
 wards." 
 
 Thus sang the sweet tones of the bell-like 
 chorus. 
 
 And every morning the sun's rays shone 
 through the one little window in the grand- 
 father's house upon the quiet child. The- 
 daughters of the rays of the sun kissed him — 
 they wished to thaw, to obliterate the ice-kiss 
 that the queenly maiden of the glaciers had 
 given him, when, in his dead mother's lap, he 
 lay in the deep crevasse of ice from which al- 
 most as by a miracle he had been rescued. 
 
THE JOUKKEY 
 
 THE NEW HOME. 
 
 /^^TJDT was now eight years of age. 
 His father's brother, who lived in the 
 valley of the Khone, on the other side 
 of the mountain, wished to have the 
 boy, as he conld be better educated 
 and taught to do for himself there ; 
 so, also, thought the grandfather, and 
 he, therefore, agreed to part with him. 
 
 The time for Rudy's departure di-ew nigh. 
 There were many more to take leave of tha,n 
 only his grandfather. First there was Ajola, 
 the old dog. 
 
 "Yom- father was the postilion, and I was 
 tlie postilion's dog," said Ajola. "We have 
 often journeyed up and down, and I know both 
 dogs and men on both sides of the mountains. 
 It has not been my habit to speak much, but 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 25 
 
 now that we shall have so short a time for con- 
 versation, I will say a little more than nsnal, 
 and will relate to you something upon which I 
 have ruminated a great deal. I cannot under- 
 stand it, nor can you ; but that is of no conse- 
 quence. But I have gathered this from it — 
 that the good things of this world are not dealt 
 out equally either to dogs or to mankind ; all 
 are not born to lie in laps or to drink milk. I 
 have never been accustomed to such indul- 
 gences. But I have seen a whelp of a little 
 dog travelling in the inside of a post-chaise, 
 occupying a man's or a woman's seat, and the 
 lady to whom he belonged, or whom he gov- 
 erned, carried a bottle of milk, from which she 
 helped him ; she also offered him sponge-cakes, 
 but he would not condescend to eat them ; he 
 only sniffed at them, so she ate them herself. 
 I was running in the sun by the side of the 
 carriage, as hungry as a dog could be, but / 
 had only to chew the cud of bitter reflection. 
 Things were not so justly meted out as they 
 might have been — but when are they? May 
 you come to drive in carriages, and lie in for- 
 tune's lap ; but you can't bring all this about 
 yourself. I never could, either by barking or 
 growling." 3 
 
26 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 This was Ajola's discourse ; and Rudy threw 
 liis arms ronnd his neck and kissed him on his 
 wet month ; and then he canght up the cat in 
 his arms, but the animal was angry at tliis, and 
 exclaimed, " You are getting too strong for 
 me, but I will not use my claws against you. 
 Sciamble away over the mountains — I have 
 taught you how to do so ; never think of fall- 
 ing, but hold fast, have no fear, and you will 
 be safe enough." 
 
 And the cat sprang down and ran off, for he 
 did not wish Rudy to see how sorry he was. 
 
 The hens hopped upon the floor; one of 
 them had lost her tail, for a traveller, who 
 chose to play the sportsman, had shot off her 
 tail, mistaking the poor fowl for a bird of prey. 
 
 " Rudy is going over the hills," mm'mured 
 one of the hens. 
 
 " He is in a hurry," said the other, " and I 
 don't like leave-takings," and they both hopped 
 out. 
 
 The goats also bleated their farewells, and 
 very sorry they were. 
 
 Just at that time there were two active 
 guides about to cross the mountains ; they pro- 
 posed descending the other side of the Gemmi, 
 and Rudy was to accompany them on foot. 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 2Y ' 
 
 It was a long and laborious journey for sucli a 
 little fellow, but be had a good deal of strength, 
 and had courage that was indomitable. 
 
 The swallows flew a little way with him, 
 and sang to him, " We and you, and you 
 and we !" 
 
 The travellers' path led across the rushing 
 Liitschine, which in numerous small streams 
 falls from the dark clefts of the Grindelwald 
 glaciers. The trunks of feJlen trees and frag- 
 ments of rock serve here as bridges. They 
 had soon passed the thicket of alders, and 
 commenced to ascend the mountain, close to 
 where the glaciers had loosened themselves 
 fi'om the side of the hill ; and they went upon 
 the glacier over the blocks of ice, and romid 
 them. 
 
 Kudy crept here, and walked there ; his eyes 
 sparkling with joy, as he firmly placed his iron- 
 tipped mountain-shoe wherever he could find 
 footing for it. The small patches of black 
 earth, which the mountain torrents had cast 
 upon the glacier, imparted to it a burned ap- 
 pearance, but still the bluish-green, glass-like 
 ice shown out visibly. They had to go round 
 the little pools which were dammed up, as it 
 were, amidst detached masses of ice; and in 
 
28 LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 tliis circuitous route they approached an im- 
 mense stone, which hiy rocking on the edge 
 of a crevasse in the ice. Tlie stone lost its 
 equipoise, toppled over, and rolled do\^ai ; 
 and the echo of its thundering fall resounded 
 faintly from the glacier's deep abyss, far — far 
 beneath. 
 
 Upwards, always upwards, they journeyed 
 on ; the glacier itself stretched upwards, like a 
 continued stream of masses of ice piled up in 
 wild confusion, amidst bare and rugged rocks, 
 Kudy remembered, for a moment, w^hat had 
 been told him — that he, with his mother, had 
 lain buried in one of these cold, mysterious fis- 
 sures ; but he soon threw oflP such gloomy 
 thoughts, and only looked upon the tale as one 
 among the many fables he had heard. Once 
 or twice, when the men with whom he was 
 travelling thought that it was rather difficult 
 for so little a boy to mount \xp, they held out 
 their hands to help him ; but he never needed 
 any assistance, and he stood upon the glacier 
 as securely as if he had been a chamois it- 
 self. 
 
 Now they came upon rocky ground, some- 
 times amidst mossy stones, sometimes amidst low 
 pine-trees, and again out upon the green pas- 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 29 
 
 tures — always dianging, always new. Aroimd 
 tliem towered lofty snow-clad mountains, those 
 of which every child in the neighborhood 
 knows the names — Jungfran, the Monk, and 
 Eiger. 
 
 Eudy had never before been so far from his 
 home — never before beheld the wide-spreading 
 ocean of snow that lay with its immovable bil- 
 lows of ice, from which the wind occasionally 
 swept little clouds of powdery snow, as it 
 sweeps the scum from the waves of the sea. 
 Glacier stretched close to glacier — one might 
 have said they were hand in hand ; and each is 
 a crystal palace belonging to the Ice-maiden, 
 whose pleasure and occupation it is to seize 
 and imprison her victims. 
 
 The sun was shining warmly, and the snow 
 dazzled the eyes as if it had been strewn with 
 flashing pale-blue diamond sparks. Innumer- 
 able insects, especially butterflies and bees, 
 lay dead in masses on the snow; they had 
 winged their way too high, or else the wind 
 had carried them upwards to the regions, for 
 them, of cold and death. Around Wetterhorn 
 hung what might be likened to a large tuft of 
 very fine dark wool, a threatening cloud; it 
 Bank, bulging out with what it had concealed 
 3* 
 
30 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 ill itself — a Foliii, - fearfully violent in its might 
 wlien it should break loose. 
 
 The whole of this journey — the night quar- 
 ters above — the wild track — the mountain clefts, 
 where the water, during an incalculably long 
 period of time, had penetrated through the 
 blocks of stone — made an indelible impression 
 upon little Eudy's mind. 
 
 A forsaken stone building, beyond the sea of 
 snow, crave the travellers sheltei- for the nio;ht. 
 Here they foimd some charcoal and branches 
 of pme-trees. A &e was soon kindled, couches 
 of some kind were arranged as well as they 
 could be, and the men placed themselves near 
 the blazing fire, took out their tobacco, and be- 
 gan to drink the warm spiced beverage they 
 had prepared for themselves, nor did they for- 
 get to give some to E-udy. 
 
 The conversation fell upon the mysterious 
 beings who haunt the Alpine land : upon the 
 strange gigantic snakes in the deep lakes — the 
 night-folks — the spectre host, that carry sleep- 
 ers off through the air to the wonderful, almost 
 floating town of Venice — the wild herdsman, 
 
 * Fohn, a livunid south wind on the Swiss mountains 
 and lakes, the forerunner of a storm. — Tkaj^slator. 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 31 
 
 "wlio drives his black slieep over tlie green pas- 
 tures ; if these had not been seen, the sound of 
 their bells had undoubtedly been heard, and 
 the frightful noise made by the phantom herds. 
 
 Rudy listened with intense curiosity to these 
 superstitious tales, but without any fear, for 
 that he did not know ; and while he listened, 
 he fancied that he heard the uproar of the wild 
 spectral herd. Tes ! It became more and 
 more distinct ; the men heard it too. They 
 were awed into silence ; and as they hearkened 
 to the unearthly noise, they whispered to Rudy 
 that he must not sleep. 
 
 It was a Fohn that had burst forth — that 
 violent tempestuous wind which issues down- 
 wards from the mountains into the valley be- 
 neath, and in its fiiiy snaps large trees as if 
 they were but reeds, and carries the wooden 
 houses from one bank of a river to the other as 
 we would move men on a chess-board. 
 
 After an hour had elapsed, Rudy was told 
 that it was aU over, and he might now go to 
 sleep safely; and, weary with his long walk, 
 he did sleep, as if in duty bound to do so. 
 
 At a very early hour in the morning the 
 party set off again. The sun that day lighted 
 up for Rudy new mountains, new glaciers, and 
 
32 LTTTLE EUDT. 
 
 new snow-fields. They had entered fhe Can- 
 ton Yalais, and were upon tlie other side of the 
 ridge of hills seen from Grindelwald, yet still 
 far from his new home. 
 
 Other mountain clefts, other pastures, other 
 woods, and other hilly paths unfolded them- 
 selves ; other houses, and other people, too, 
 Rudy saw. But what kind of human beings 
 were these ? The outcasts of fate they were, 
 with frightful, disgusting, yellowish faces, and 
 necks of which the hideous flesh hung down 
 like bags. They were the cretins — poor dis- 
 eased wretches, dragging themselves along, and 
 looking with stupid, lustreless eyes upon the 
 strangers who crossed their path — the women 
 even more disgusting than the men. "Were 
 such the persons who sm-rounded his new 
 home i 
 
THE UNCLE. 
 
 )'N Ms imcle's house, when Rudy arrived 
 there, he saw, and he thanked God for 
 it, people such as he had been accus- 
 tomed to see. There was only one cre- 
 tin there, a poor idiotic lad: one of 
 those unfortunate beings who, in their 
 poverty — in fact, in their utter destitu- 
 tion — go by turns to different families, and re- 
 main a month or two in each house. Poor 
 Saperli happened to be in his uncle's house 
 when Rudy arrived. 
 
 The uncle was a bold and experienced hunt- 
 er, and was, also, a cooper by trade ; his wife, a 
 lively little woman, with a face something like 
 that of a bird, eyes like those of an eagle, and 
 a long skinny throat. 
 
 Every tiling was new to Rudy — the di-ess, 
 customs, employments — even the language it- 
 self; but his childish ear would soon learn to 
 
34 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 ■understand that. The contrast between his 
 home at his grandfather's and his uncle's abode 
 was very favorable to the latter. The house 
 was larger ; the walls were adorned by horns 
 of the chamois, and brightly polished gnns; 
 a painting of the Yirgin Mary liung over 
 the door, and fi-esh Alpine roses, and a lamp 
 that was kept always bm'ning, were placed be- 
 fore it. 
 
 His uncle, as has been told, was one of the 
 most renowned chamois-hunters of the district, 
 and was, also, one of the best and most expe- 
 rienced of the guides. 
 
 E-udy became the pet of the house ; but there 
 was another pet as well — a blind, lazy old 
 hound, who could no longer be of any use ; 
 but he had heen useful, and the worth of the 
 animal in his earlier days was remembered, and 
 he, therefore, now lived as one of the family, 
 and had every comfort. Rudy patted the dog, 
 but the animal did not like strangers, and as 
 yet Rudy was a stranger ; but he soon won 
 every heart, and became as one of themselves. 
 
 " Things don't go so badly in Canton Yalais," 
 said his uncle. " We have plenty of chamois ; 
 they do not die off so fast as the wild he-goats ; 
 matters are much better now-a-days than in 
 
LITTLE KUDT. 35 
 
 the old times, although they are so hepraised. 
 A hole is burst in the bag, and we have a cur- 
 rent of air now in oui- confined valley. Some- 
 thing better always starts up when antiquated 
 things are done away with." 
 
 The uncle became quite chatty, and dis- 
 com'sed to the boy of the events of his own 
 boyhood and those of his father. Yalais was 
 then, as he called it, only a receptacle for sick 
 people — miserable cretins; "but the French 
 soldiers came, and they made capital doctors ; 
 they soon killed the disease, and the patients 
 with it. They know how to strike — ay, how 
 to strike in many ways — and the girls could 
 smite, too !" and thereupon the uncle nodded 
 to his wife, who was of French descent, and 
 laughed. " The French could split solid stones 
 if they chose. It was they who cut out of the 
 rocks the road over the Simplon — yes, cut 
 such a road that I could say to a child of three 
 years of age. Go down to Italy! You have 
 but to keep to the high road, and you find 
 yourself there." The good man then sang a 
 French romance, and wound up by shouting 
 " hm'rah !" for l^apoleon Bonaparte. 
 
 It was the first time that Eudy had ever 
 heard of France, and he was interested in hear- 
 
36 LITTLE EUDT, 
 
 ing of it, especially Lyons, tliat great city on 
 the river Rhone, where his uncle had been. 
 
 The uncle prophesied that Rudy would be- 
 come, in a few years, a smart chamois-hunter, 
 as he had quite a talent for it. He taught the 
 boy to hold, load, and fii-e a gun ; he took him 
 up with him, in the hunting season, among the 
 hills, and made him drink of the warm cha- 
 mois' blood, to ward off giddiness from the 
 hunter ; he taught him to know the time when, 
 upon the different sides of the mountains, 
 avalanches were about to fall, at mid-day or in 
 the evening, whenever the sun's rays took ef- 
 fect ; he taught him to notice the movements 
 of the chamois, and learn their spring, so that 
 he might alight on his feet and stand firmly ; 
 and told him that if on the fissures of the rock 
 there was no footing, he must support himself 
 by his elbows, and exert the muscles of his 
 thighs and the calves of his legs to hold on fast. 
 Even the neck could be made of use, if neces- 
 sary. 
 
 The chamois are cunning, and place outposts 
 on the watch; but the hunter must be more 
 cunning, and scent them out. Sometimes he 
 might cheat them by hanging up his hat and 
 coat on an Alpine staff and the chamois would 
 
LITTLE KUDT. 37 
 
 mistake tlie coat for the man. This trick the 
 uncle played one day when he was out hunting 
 with Rudy. 
 
 The mountain pass was narrow; indeed, 
 there was scarcely a path at all ; scarcely more 
 than a slight cornice close to the yawning 
 abyss. The snow that lay there was partially 
 thawed, and the stones crumbled away when- 
 ever they were trod on. So the uncle laid 
 himself down his full length, and crept for 
 ward. Every fragment of stone that broke off, 
 fell, rolling, and knocking from one side of the 
 rocky wall to another, until it sank to rest in 
 the dark depths below. About a hundred 
 pace's behind his uncle stood Rudy, upon the 
 verge of the last point of solid rock ; and as he 
 stood, he saw careering through the air, and 
 hovering just over his uncle, an immense 
 Lammergeier, which, with the tremendous 
 stroke of its wing, would speedily cast the 
 creeping worm into the abyss beneath, there to 
 prey upon his carcass. 
 
 The uncle had eyes for nothing but the 
 chamois, which, with its young kid, had ap- 
 peared on the other side of the crevasse. Rudy 
 was watching the bird ; well did he know what 
 was its aim, and, therefore, he kept his hand 
 4 
 
38 LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 on tlie gun to fire tlie moment it might be ne- 
 cessary. Just then the chamois made a bound 
 upwards; Rudy's uncle fired, and the animal 
 was hit by the deadly bullet, but the kid es- 
 caped as cleverly as if it had had a long life's 
 experience in danger and flight. The enor- 
 mous bird, frightened by the loud report, 
 wheeled off" in another direction ; and the uncle 
 was freed from a danger of which he was quite 
 unconscious until he was told of it by Rudy. 
 
 As in high good-humor they were wending 
 their way homewards, and the uncle was hum- 
 ming an air he remembered from his childish 
 days, they suddenly heard a peculiar noise, 
 which seemed to come from no great distance. 
 They looked round, on both sides — they looked 
 upwards ; and there in the heights above, on 
 the sloping verge of the mountain, the heavy 
 covering of snow was lifted up, and it heaved 
 as a sheet of linen stretched out heaves when 
 the wind creeps under it. The lofty mass 
 cracked as if it had been a marble slab — it 
 broke, and resolving itself into a foaming cata- 
 ract, came rushing down with a rambling noise 
 like that of distant thunder. It was an ava- 
 lanche that had fallen, not indeed over Rudy 
 and his uncle, but near them — all too near ' 
 
LITTLE EUDY. 39 
 
 " Hold fast, Eudy — hold fast with all your 
 might !" cried his uncle. 
 
 And Rudy threw his arms round the trunk 
 of a tree that was close by, while his uncle 
 climbed above him and held fast to the branches 
 of the tree. The avalanche rolled past at a 
 little distance from them, but the gust of wind 
 that swept like the tail of a hm'ricane after it, 
 rattled around the trees and bushes, snapped 
 them asunder as if they had been but dry 
 rushes, and cast them down in all directions. 
 Budy was dashed to the ground, for the trunk 
 of the tree to which he had clung was thus 
 overthrown; the upper part was flung to a 
 great distance. There, amidst the shattered 
 branches, lay his poor uncle, with his skull 
 fractured ! His hand was still warm, but it 
 would have been impossible to recognize his 
 face. Rudy stood pale and trembling ; it was 
 the first shock in his young life — the first mo- 
 ment he had ever felt terror. 
 
 Late in the evening he reached his home 
 with the fatal tidings — ^his home which was 
 now to be the abode of sorrow. The bereaved 
 wife stood like a statue — she did not utter a 
 word — she did not shed a tear; and it was 
 not until the corpse was brought in that her 
 
40 LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 grief found its natural vent. The poor cretin 
 stole away to his bed, and nothing was seen of 
 him during the whole of the next day ; towards 
 evening he came to Rudy. 
 
 " Will you write a letter for me ?" he asked. 
 " Saperli cannot write — Saperli can only go 
 down to the post-office with the letter." 
 
 "A letter for you ?" exclaimed Rudy ; " and 
 to whom ?" 
 
 " To our Lord Christ !" 
 
 " Whom do you mean ?" 
 
 And the half-idiot, as the cretin was called, 
 looked with a most touching expression at 
 Rudy, clasped his hands, and said solemnly 
 and reverentially — 
 
 " Jesus Chi'ist ! Saperli would send Him a 
 letter to pray of Him that Saperli may lie 
 dead, and not the good master of the house 
 here." 
 
 And Rudy took his hand and wrimg it. 
 " That letter would not reach up yonder — that 
 letter would not restore to us hun we have 
 lost." 
 
 But Rudy fomid it very difficult to con\Tnce 
 Saperli of the impossibility of his wishes. 
 
 " j:^ow you must be the support of the house," 
 said his aunt to him j and Rudy became such. 
 
BABETTE. 
 
 HO is tlie best marksman in the Can- 
 ton Yalais ? The chamois well know 
 — " Save yourselves from Rudy !" 
 they might have said. And " who is 
 the handsomest marksman ?" " Oh ! 
 it is E-udy!" said the girls. But 
 they did not add, " Save yourselves 
 from Rudy ;" neither did the sober mothers say 
 so, for he bowed as politely to them as to the 
 young girls. He was so brave and so joyous, 
 his cheeks so browD, his teeth so white, his 
 dark eyes so sparkling. A handsome young 
 man he was, and only twenty years of age. 
 The most ice-chill water never seemed too cold 
 for him when he was swimming — in fact, he 
 was like a fish in the water ; he could climb 
 better than any one else ; he could also cling 
 fast, like a snail, to the wall of rock. There 
 
 were good muscles and sinews in him; this 
 4* 
 
42 LITTLE RUDY. 
 
 was quite evident whenever he made a spring. 
 He had learned first from the cat hoAV to spring, 
 and from the chamois afterwards. Rudy had 
 the reputation of being the best guide on the 
 mountain, and he could have made a great deal 
 of money by this occupation. His uncle had 
 also taught him the cooper's trade, but he had 
 no inclination for that. He cared for nothing 
 but chamois-hunting ; in this he delighted, and 
 it also brought in money. Rudy would be an 
 excellent match, it was said, if he only did not 
 look too high. He was such a good dancer 
 that the girls who were his partners often 
 dreamt of him, and more than one let her 
 thoughts dwell on him even after she awoke. 
 
 " He kissed me in the dance !" said Annette, 
 the schoolmaster's daughter, to her dearest 
 friend ; but she should not have said this even 
 to her dearest friend. Such secrets are seldom 
 kept — like sand in a bag that has holes, they 
 ooze out. Therefore, however well behaved 
 Rudy might be, it was soon spread about that 
 he kissed in the dance ; and yet he had never 
 kissed her whom he would have liked to kiss. 
 
 " Take care of him !" said an old himter ; 
 " he has kissed Annette. He has begun with 
 A, and he will kiss through the whole alphabet." 
 
LITTLE RUDY, 43 
 
 A kiss in tlie dance was all that tlie gossips 
 could find to bring against Rudy ; but he cer- 
 tainly had kissed Annette, and yet she was not 
 the flower of his heart. 
 
 Below, at Bex, amidst the great walnut-trees, 
 close to a small rushing mountain stream, lived 
 the rich miller. His dwelling-house was a 
 large building of three stories high, with small 
 turrets ; its roof was composed of shavings of 
 wood covered with tinned iron plates, which 
 shone in sunshine and moonshine ; on the high- 
 est turret was a vane, a glittering arrow passed 
 through an apple, in allusion to Tell's cele- 
 brated arrow-shot. The mill was a conspicuous 
 object, and permitted itself to be sketched or 
 written about; but the miller's daughter did 
 not permit hereelf to be described in writing or 
 to be sketched — so at least Kudy would have 
 said. And yet her image was engraved on his 
 heart ; both her eyes blazed in on it, so that it 
 was quite in flames. The fire had, like other 
 fires, come on suddenly ; and the strangest part 
 of it was, that the miller's daughter, the charm- 
 ing Babette, was quite ignorant of it, for she 
 and Rudy had never spoken so much as two 
 words to each other. 
 
 The miller was rich, and, on account of his 
 
44 
 
 LITTLE EFDT. 
 
 "v^'ealtli, Babette was rather high to aspire to, 
 " But nothing is so high," said Kudy to him- 
 self, "that one may not aspire to it. One must 
 climb perseveringly ; and if one has confidence, 
 one does not fall." He had received this teach- 
 ing in his early home. 
 
 It so happened that Rudy had some business 
 to transact at Bex. It was a long journey to 
 that place, for there was then no railroad. 
 From the glaciers of the Rhone, immediately at 
 the foot of the Simplon, among many and often 
 shifting mountain peaks, stretches the broad 
 valley of the Canton Yalais, with its mighty 
 river, the Rhone, whose waters are often so 
 swollen as to overflow its banks, inundating 
 fields and roads, and destroying all. Between 
 the towns of Sion and St. Maurice the valley 
 takes a turn, bending like an elbow, and below 
 St, Maurice becomes so narrow that there is 
 only space for the bed of the river and the con- 
 fined carriage-road. An old tower, like the 
 guardian of the Canton Yalais, which ends 
 here, stands on the side of the mountain, and 
 commands a view over the stone bridge to the 
 custom-house on the other side, where the 
 Canton Yaud commences ; and nearest of the 
 not very distant towns lies Bex. In this 
 
LITTLE RUDY. 45 
 
 part, at every step forward, are displayed 
 increased fruitfulness and abundance ; one en 
 ters, as it were, a grove of chestnut and wal 
 nut-trees. Here and tliere peep forth cy- 
 presses and pomegranates. It is almost as 
 warm tliere as in Italy. 
 
 Eudy readied Bex, got thi'ough his business, 
 and looked about him ; but not a soul (puttiiig 
 Babette out of the question) belonging to the 
 mill did he see. This was not what he wanted. 
 
 Evening came on; the air was filled with 
 the perfume of the wild thyme and the blos- 
 soming lime-trees; there lay what seemed 
 like a shining sky-blue veil over the wooded 
 green hills; a stillness reigned around — not 
 the stillness of sleep, not the stillness of death 
 — ^no, it was as if aU nature was holding 
 its breath, in order that its image might be 
 photographed upon the blue surface of the 
 heavens above. Here and there amidst the 
 trees stood poles, or posts, which conveyed the 
 wires of the telegraph along the silent valley : 
 close against one of these leaned an object, so 
 motionless that one might have thought it was 
 the decayed trunk of a tree ; but it was Rudy, 
 who was standing there, as still as was all around 
 him at that moment. He was not sleeping, 
 
46 LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 neither was lie dead ; but, as ttiroiigli the wires 
 of the telegraph there are often transmitted the 
 great events of the world, and matters of the 
 utmost importance to individuals, without the 
 wires, by the slightest tremor or the faintest 
 tone, betraying them, so there passed through 
 Kudy's mind anxious overwhelming thonghts, 
 fraught with the happiness of his future life, 
 and constituting, from this time forth, his one 
 unchanging aim. His eyes were fixed on one 
 point before him, and that was a light in the 
 j)arlor of the miller's house, whe^'e Babette re- 
 sided. Rudy stood so still that one might have 
 thought he was on the watch to fire at a cha- 
 mois ; but he was himself at that moment like a 
 chamois, which one minute could stand as if it 
 were chiselled out of the rock, and suddenly, if 
 a stone but rolled past, would make a spring 
 and leave the hunter in the lurch. And thus 
 did Rudy, for a thought rolled through his 
 mind, 
 
 " J^ever despair !" said he ; "a visit to the 
 mill, say good-evening to the miller, and good- 
 day to Babette. One does not fall unless one 
 fears to do so. If I am to be Babette's hus- 
 band, she must see me some day or other." 
 
 And Rudy laughed and made up his mind 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 47 
 
 to go to the miller's ; he knew what he wanted, 
 and that was to marry Babette. 
 
 The stream, with its yellowish-white water, 
 was dashing on; the willows and lime-trees 
 hung over it. Rndy, as it stands in the old 
 nursery rhyme. 
 
 Found to the miller's house Ms way ; 
 But there was nobody at home, 
 Except a pussy-cat at play ! 
 
 The cat, which was standing on the steps, 
 put up its back and mewed ; but Rudy was no 
 way inclined to listen to it. He knocked at 
 the door ; no one seemed to hear him, no one 
 answered. The cat mewed again. Had Kudy 
 been still a little boy, he might have under- 
 stood the cat's language, and heard that it said 
 " No one is at home." But now he had to go 
 to the mill to make the necessary inquiries, and 
 there he was told that the master had gone on 
 a long journey to the town of Interlaken — " In- 
 ter Lacus, amidst the lakes," as the schoolmas- 
 ter, Annette's father, in his great learning, had 
 - explained the name. 
 
 Ah ! so far away, then, were the miller 
 and Babette? There was a great shooting- 
 match to be held at Interlaken ; it was to begin 
 
1:8 LITTLE EUDT, 
 
 tlie next morning, and to last for eight clajs. 
 The Swiss from all the German cantons were 
 to assemble there. 
 
 Poor Kudj ! it was not a fortunate time for 
 him to have come to Bex. He had only to re- 
 tm-n again ; and he did so, taking the road 
 over St. Maurice and Sion to his own valley, 
 his own liills. But he was not disheartened. 
 When the snn rose next morning he was in 
 high spirits, but indeed they had never been 
 depressed. 
 
 " Babette is at Interlaken, a journey of many 
 days from this," he said to himself " It is a 
 long way off if one goes by the circuitous high- 
 road, but not so far if one cuts across the moun- 
 tains, and that way just suits a chamois-hmiter. 
 I have gone that way before ; over yonder lies 
 my early home, where, as a little boy, I lived 
 with my grandfather. And there are shooting- 
 matches at Interlaken ; I shall take my place 
 as the first there, and there also shall I be 
 with Babette, when I become acquainted with 
 her." 
 
 Carrying his light knapsack, with his Sunday 
 finery in it, with his musket and game-bag, 
 Eudy went up the mountain the shortest way, 
 yet still tolerably long ; but the shooting match- 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 49. 
 
 es were only to commence that day, and were- 
 to continue for a week. During all tliat time, 
 he had been assured, the miller and Babette: 
 would stay with their relatives at Interlaken. 
 So over the Gemmi trudged Rudy: he pro- 
 posed descending near Grindelwald. 
 
 In high health and spirits he set off, enjoying, 
 the fresh, pure, and invigorating mountain air. 
 The valleys sank deeper, the horizon became 
 more extensive; here a snow-crested summit, 
 there another, and speedily the whole of the 
 bright shining Alpine range became visible. 
 Rudy knew well every ice-clad peak. He kept 
 his course opposite to Schreckhorn, which raised 
 its white-powdered stone finger high towards 
 the blue vault above. 
 
 At length he had crossed the loftier moun- 
 tain ridge. The pasture-lands sloped down 
 towards the valley that was his former home. 
 The air was pleasant, his thoughts were pleas- 
 ant ; hill and dale were blooming with flowers 
 and verdure, and his heart was full of the 
 glowing dreams of youth ; he felt as if old age, 
 as if death, were never to approach him ; life, 
 power, enjoyment, were before him. Free as a 
 bird, light as a bird, was Rudy ; and the swal- 
 lows flew past him, and sang as in the days of 
 5 
 
50 LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 liis cliildliood, " We and you, and you and we !" 
 All was motion and pleasure. 
 
 Beneath lay tlie green velvet meadows, dot- 
 ted with brown wooden houses ; the river Liit- 
 schine rushed foaming along. He saw the gla- 
 cier with its borders like green glass edging 
 the dirty snow, and he saw the deep chasms, 
 while the sound of the church-bells came upon 
 his ear, as if they were ringing a welcome to 
 his old home. His heart beat rapidly, and his 
 mind became so full of old recollections that 
 for a moment he almost forgot Babette. 
 
 He was again traversing the same road where, 
 as a little boy, he had stood along with other 
 children to sell their carved wooden toy horses. 
 Yonder, above the pine-trees, still stood his 
 grandfather's house, but strangers dwelt there 
 now. The children came running after him, 
 as foi-merly; they wished to sell their little 
 wares. One of them offered him an Alpine 
 rose. Rudy took it as a good omen, and thought 
 of Babette. He had soon crossed the bridge 
 where the two Liitschines unite, and reached 
 the smiling country where the walnut and other 
 embowering trees afford grateful shade. He 
 soon perceived waving flags, and beheld the 
 white cross on the red ground — the standard of 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 51 
 
 tlie Swiss as of the Danes — and before him lay 
 Interlaken. 
 
 Eudy thought it was certainly a splendid 
 town — a Swiss town in its holiday dress. It 
 was not, like other market towns, a heap ot 
 heavy stone houses, stiff, foreign-looking, and 
 aiming at grandeur ; no ! it looked as if the 
 wooden houses from the hills above had taken 
 a start into the green valley beneath, with its 
 clear stream whose waters rushed swiftly as 
 an arrow, and had ranged themselves into rows 
 — somewhat uneven, it is true — to form the 
 street. And that prettiest of all, the street which 
 had been built since Rudy, as a little boy, had 
 last been there — that seemed to be composed ot 
 all the nicest wooden houses his grandfather 
 had cut out, and with which the cupboard at 
 home had been filled. These seemed to have 
 transplanted themselves there, and to have 
 grown in size, as the old chestnut-trees had done. 
 
 Every house almost was an hotel, as it was 
 called, with carved wooden work round the 
 windows and balconies, with smart-looking 
 roofs, and before each house a flower-garden, 
 between it and the wide macadamized high- 
 road. Near these houses, but only on one side 
 of the road, stood some other houses : had they 
 
52 LITTLE KUDT. 
 
 formed a double row, they would have con 
 cealed the fresh green meadow, where wandered 
 the cows with bells that rang as among the 
 high Alpine pastures. The valley was encir 
 cled by lofty hills, which, about the centre, 
 seemed to retire a little to one side, so as to 
 render visible that glittering snow-white Jung- 
 frau, the most beautifiil in form of all the moun- 
 tains of Switzerland. 
 
 What a nmnber of gayly di'essed gentlemen 
 and ladies from foreign lands — what crowds of 
 Swiss from the adjacent cantons ! The candi- 
 dates for the prizes carried the numbers of their 
 shots in a garland round their hats. There was 
 music of all kinds — singing, hand-organs and 
 wind-instruments, shouting and racket. The 
 houses and bridges were adorned with verses 
 and emblems. Flags and banners waved ; the 
 firing of gun after gun was heard, and that was 
 the best music to Rudy's ears. Amidst all this 
 excitement he almost forgot Babette, for whose 
 sake only he had gone there. 
 
 Crowds were thronging to the target-shooting. 
 Rudy was soon among them, and he was al- 
 ways the luckiest — the best shot — for he always 
 struck the bull's eye. 
 
 " Who is that young stranger — that capital 
 
LITTLE ETJDY. 53 
 
 marksman?" was asked around. "He speaks 
 the French language as they speak it in the 
 Canton Yalais ; he also expresses himself flu- 
 ently in our German," said several people. 
 
 " When a child he lived here in the valley, 
 near Grindelwald," replied some one. 
 
 The youth was fall of life ; his eyes sparkled, 
 his aim was steady, his arm sure, and therefore 
 his shots always told. Good fortune bestows 
 courage, and Eudy had always courage. He 
 had soon a whole circle of friends round him. 
 Every one noticed him ; in short, he became 
 the observed of all observers. Babette had al- 
 most vanished from his thoughts. Just then a 
 heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a 
 rough voice accosted him in the French lan- 
 guage with — 
 
 " You are from the Canton Yalais ?" 
 
 Rudy turned round, and beheld a red jolly 
 countenance and a stout person. It was the 
 rich miller from Bex ; his broad bulk hid the 
 slender, lovely Babette, who, however, soon 
 came forward with her dark bright eyes. The 
 rich miller was very proud that it was a hunts- 
 man from his own canton that had been de- 
 clared the best shot, and was so much dis- 
 tinguished and so much praised. Eudy was 
 
54 LriTLE ETTDT. 
 
 truly the child of good fortune ; what he had 
 travelled so far to look for, but had since his 
 arrival nearly forgotten, now sought him. 
 
 When at a distance from home one meets 
 persons from thence, acquaintance is speedily 
 made, and people speak as if they knew each 
 other. Rudy held the first place at the shoot- 
 ing matches, as the miller held the first place at 
 Bex on account of his money and his mill. So 
 the two men shook hands, although they had 
 never met before ; Babette, too, held out her 
 hand frankly to Rudy, and he pressed it warm- 
 ly, and gazed with such admiration at her that 
 she became scarlet. 
 
 The miller talked of the long journey they 
 had made, and the numerous large towns they 
 had seen, and how they had travelled both by 
 steam and by post. 
 
 " I came the shorter way," said Rudy ; " I 
 went over the mountains. There is no road so 
 liigh that one cannot venture to take it." 
 
 " Ay, at the risk of breaking one's neck !" 
 replied the miller ; " and you just look like one 
 -who will some day or other break his neck — 
 jou are so daring !" 
 
 " One does not fall unless one has the fear of 
 doing so," said Rudy. 
 
LITTLE KUDY. 
 
 55 
 
 And tlie miller's relations at Interlaken, with 
 whom lie and Babette were staying, invited 
 Rudy to visit them, since lie came from the 
 same canton as did their kindred. It was a 
 pleasant invitation for Rndy. Luck was with 
 him, as it always is with those who depend upon 
 themselves, and remember that " our Lord be- 
 stows nuts upon us, but He does not crack 
 them for us !" 
 
 And Eudy sat almost like one of the fam- 
 ily, among the miller's relations, and a toast 
 was drunk in honor of the best shot, to which 
 Eudy returned thanks, after clinking glasses 
 with Babette. 
 
 In the evening the whole party took a walk 
 on the pretty avenue along the gay-looking ho- 
 tels under the walnut-trees ; and there was such 
 a crowd, and so much pushing, that Eudy had 
 to offer his arm to Babette. He told her how 
 happy he was to have met people from the 
 Canton Yaud, for Yaud and Yalais were close 
 neighbors. He spoke so cordially, that Babette 
 could not resist slightly squeezing his hand. 
 They seemed almost like old acquaintances, and 
 she was very lively — that pretty little girl. 
 Eudy was much amused at her remarks on 
 what was absurd and over-fine in the dress of 
 
56 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 the foreign ladies, and tlie affectation of some 
 of them ; but she did not wish to ridicule them, 
 for there might be some excellent people among 
 them — yes, nice amiable people, Babette was 
 sure of that, for she had a godmother who was 
 a very superior English lady. Eighteen years 
 before when Babette was ckristened, that lady 
 was at Bex ; she had given Babette the valua- 
 ble brooch she wore. Her godmother had 
 written to her twice, and this year they were 
 to have met her at Interlaken, whither she was 
 coming with her daughters; they were old 
 maids, going on for thirty, said Babette — she 
 herself was only eighteen. 
 
 The tongue in her pretty little mouth was not 
 still for a moment, and all that she said appeared 
 to Rudy as matters of the greatest importance. 
 And he told her what he had to tell — told how 
 he had been to Bex, how well he knew the mill, 
 and how often he had seen her, though, of 
 course, she had never remarked him. He said 
 he had been more distressed than he could tell, 
 when he found that she and her father were 
 away, far away ; but still not too far to prevent 
 one from scrambKng over the wall that made 
 the road so long. 
 
 He said all this, and he said a great deal 
 
LITTLE ETJDT. 67 
 
 more ; lie told her how much she occupied his 
 thoughts, and that it was on her account, and 
 not for the sake of the shooting matches, that 
 he had come to Interlaken. 
 
 Babette became very silent — it was almost 
 too much, all that he confided to her. 
 
 As they walked on, the sun sank behind the 
 lofty heights, and the Jungfrau stood in strong 
 relief, clothed in a splendor and brilliancy re- 
 flected by the green woods of the surrounding 
 hills. Every one stood still and gazed at it ; 
 Rudy and Babette also stood and looked at the 
 magnificent scene. 
 
 " Il^othing can be more beautiful than this !" 
 said Babette. 
 
 " Nothing !" said Rudy, with his eyes fixed 
 upon Babette. 
 
 " To-morrow I must go," he added a little 
 after. 
 
 " Come and visit us at Bex," whispered Ba- 
 bette ', " my father will be so glad to see you." 
 
ON THE WAY HOME. 
 
 H ! liow mucli liad not Rudj to carry 
 next day when he started on his jour- 
 ney homewards over the mountains ! 
 He had actually to carry two hand- 
 some guns, three silver goblets, and a 
 silver coffee-pot — the latter would be 
 of use when he set up a house. But 
 these valuables were not the weightiest load 
 he had to bear ; a still weightier load he had 
 to carry — or did it carry him ? — over the high, 
 high hills. 
 
 The road was rough ; the weather was dis- 
 mal, gloomy, and rainy ; the clouds hung like 
 a mourning- veil over the summits of the moun- 
 tains, and shrouded their shining peaks. From 
 the woods had resounded the last stroke of the 
 axe, and down the side of the hill rolled the 
 trunks of the trees ; they looked like sticks from 
 the vast heights above, but nearer they were seen 
 to be like the thick masts of ships. The river 
 
 \ 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 69 
 
 murmured witli its monotonous sound, tlie wind 
 whistled, the clouds began to sail hurriedly 
 along. 
 
 Close by Rudy suddenly appeared a young 
 girl; he had not observed her until she was 
 quite near him. She also was going to cross 
 the mountain. Her eyes had an extraordinary 
 power ; they seemed to have a spell in them — 
 they were so clear, so deep, so unfathoma- 
 ble. 
 
 " Have you a lover ?" asked Rudy. All his 
 thoughts were filled with love. 
 
 " I have none," she replied with a laugh, but 
 it seemed as if she did not speak the truth. 
 " Let us not go the long way round. We must 
 keep to the left ; it is shorter." 
 
 " Yes — to fall into some crevasse," said Rudy. 
 " Tou should know the paths better if you take 
 upon yourself to be a guide." 
 
 " I know the way well," she rejoined, " and 
 I have my wits about me. Your thoughts are 
 down yonder in the valley. Up here one should 
 think of the Ice-maiden. Mankind say that 
 she is not friendly to their race." 
 
 " I am not in the least afraid of her," said 
 Rudy. " She could not keep me when I was a 
 
60 LITTLE KUDT. 
 
 child; sTie shall not catch me now I am a 
 grown up man." 
 
 It became very dark, the rain fell, and it be- 
 gan to snow heavily ; it dazzled the eyes, and 
 blinded them. 
 
 " Give me your hand, and I will help you to 
 mount upwards," said the girl, as she touched 
 him with her ice-cold fingers. 
 
 " You help me !" cried Kudy. " I do not 
 yet require a woman's help in climbing ;" and 
 he walked on more briskly away from her. 
 The snow-storm thickened like a curtain around 
 him, the wind moaned, and behind him he 
 heard the girl laughing and singing. It sounded 
 so strangely. It was' surely Glamourie, she 
 sm-ely, one of the attendants of the Ice-maiden ; 
 Rudy had heard of such things when, as a httle 
 boy, he had spent a night on the mountains, on 
 his journey over the hiUs. 
 
 The snow fell more thickly, the clouds lay 
 below him. He looked back; there was no 
 one to be seen, but he heard laughter and jeer- 
 ing, and it did not seem to come from a himian 
 being. 
 
 When at length Rudy had reached the high- 
 est part of the mountain, where the path led 
 
'"1 ^' *" V ' 
 
 
 
 
 The Tempter. 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 61 
 
 down to the valley of tlie Ehone, he perceived 
 on the pale blue of the horizon, in the direc- 
 tion of Chamouny, two glittering stars. They 
 shone so brightly ; and he thought of Babette, 
 of himself, and of his hai)piness, and became 
 warm with these thoughts. 
 
THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 
 
 ^(^\ ^^ ^^"^Q really bronglit costly tilings 
 
 jn IJ , home," said his old foster-motlier, and 
 
 her strange eagle eyes sparkled, while 
 
 she worked her thin wrinkled neck 
 
 even more qnickly than usual. " Ton 
 
 carry good luck with you, Eudy, I 
 
 must kiss you, my dear hoy." 
 
 Rudy allowed himself to be kissed, hut it 
 
 was evident by his countenance that he did 
 
 not relish this domestic greeting. 
 
 " How handsome you are, Rudy !" exclaimed 
 the old woman. 
 
 " Oh ! don't flatter me," replied Rudy, laugh- 
 ing; but he was pleased at the compliment 
 nevertheless. 
 
 " I repeat it," said the old woman, " and good 
 fortune smiles on you." 
 
 " Yes, I believe you are right there," he said, 
 while his thoughts strayed to Babette. 
 6* 
 
LITTLE BUDY. 
 
 63 
 
 !Never before had he longed so mucli for the 
 deep valley. 
 
 " They must have come back," he said to 
 himself; " it is now more than two days over 
 the time they fixed for their retm:*n. I must go 
 to Bex." 
 
 And to Bex he went. The miller and his 
 daughter were at home ; he was well received, 
 and many greetings were given to him from 
 the family at Interlaken. Babette did not 
 speak much ; she had become very silent. But 
 her eyes spoke, and that was quite enough for 
 Kudy. The miller, who generally had enough 
 to say, and was accustomed to joke and have 
 all his jokes laughed at, for he was the rich 
 'miller^ seemed to prefer listening to Rudy's 
 stu'ring adventures, and hearing him tell of all 
 the difiiculties and dangers that the chamois- 
 hunter had to encounter on the mountain 
 heights — how he had to crawl along the unsafe 
 snowy cornice-work on the edges of the hills, 
 which was attached to the rocks by the force 
 of the wind and weather, and tread the frail 
 bridges the snow-storm had cast over many a 
 deep abyss, 
 
 Kudy spoke with much spirit, and his eyes 
 sparkled while he described the life of a hunter, 
 
64 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 the cunning of the chamois and the wonderful 
 springs they took, the mighty Fohn, and the 
 rolling avalanche. He observed that, at every 
 new description, he won more and more upon 
 the miller, and that the latter was particularly 
 interested in his account of the Liimmergeier 
 and the bold royal eagle. 
 
 Not far from Bex, in the Canton Yalais, 
 there was an eagle's nest, built most inge- 
 niously under a projecting platform of rock, on 
 the margin of the hill ; there was a }'0ung one 
 in it, which no one could take. An English- 
 man had, a few days before, offered Eudy a 
 large handful of gold if he would bring him 
 the young eagle alive. 
 
 " But there are limits even to the most reck- 
 less daring," said Rudy. " The young eagle up 
 there is not to be got at : it would be madness 
 to make the attempt." 
 
 And the wine circulated fast, and the con- 
 versation flowed on fast, and Rudy thought the 
 evening was much too short, although it was 
 past midnight when he left the miller's house 
 after this his first visit. 
 
 The lights shone for a short time thi'ough 
 the windows, and were reflected on the green 
 branches of the trees, while through the sky- 
 
LITTLE EUDY. 65 
 
 light on tlie roof, wliicli was open, crept ont tlie 
 parlor cat, and met in the water conduit on the 
 roof the kitchen cat. 
 
 " Don't you see that there is something new 
 going on here ?" said the parlor cat. " There 
 is secret love-making in the house. The father 
 knows nothing of it yet. Kudy and Babette 
 have been all the evening treading on each 
 other's toes under the table ; they trod on me 
 twice, but I did not mew, for that would have 
 aroused suspicion." 
 
 "Well, /would have done it," said the kitch- 
 en cat. 
 
 "What might suit the kitchen would not 
 do in the parlor," replied the parlor cat. " I 
 should like very much to know what the miller 
 will say when he hears of this engagement." 
 
 Yes, indeed — what would the miller say? 
 That Rudy also was anxious to know. He 
 could not bring himself to wait long. There- 
 fore before many days had passed, when the 
 omnibus rolled over the bridge between the 
 Cantons Yalais and Yaud, Eudy sat in it, with 
 plenty of confidence as usual, and pleasant 
 thoughts of the favorable answer he expected 
 that evening. 
 
 And when the evening had come, and the 
 
 6* 
 
6Q LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 omnibus was rehirning, Eudy also sat in it, 
 going liomewards. But, at the miller's, tlie 
 parlor cat jumped out again. 
 
 " Look here, jou from the kitchen — the mil- 
 ler knows every thing now. There was a 
 strange end to the affair. Rudy came here 
 towards the afternoon, and he and Babettehad 
 a great deal to whisper about ; they stood on 
 the path a little below the miller's room. I lay 
 at their feet, but they had neither eyes nor 
 thoughts for me. 
 
 " ' I will go straight to your father,' said 
 Rudy ; ' my proposal is honest and honorable.' 
 
 " ' Shall I go with you,' said Babette, ' that I 
 may give you courage V 
 
 " ' I have plenty of courage,' replied Rudy, 
 'but if you are with me, he must put some 
 control upon himself, whether he likes the mat- 
 ter or not.' 
 
 "So they went in. Eudy trod heavily on 
 my tail — ^he is very clumsy. I mewed, but 
 neither he nor Babette had ears for me. 
 They opened the door, and entered together, 
 and I with them, but I sprang up to the back 
 of a chair. I could scarcely hear what Eudy 
 said, but I heard how the master blazed forth : 
 it was a regtdar turning him out of his doors 
 
The Proposal, 
 
LITTLE KTJDT. 67 
 
 up to the mountains and the chamois ; Kudy 
 might look after these, but not after our little 
 Babette." 
 
 " But what did they say ?" asked the kitchen 
 cat. 
 
 " Say ! they said all that is generally said 
 under such circumstances when people go 
 a-wooing. ' I love her and she loves me ; and 
 when there is milk in the can for one, there is 
 milk in the can for two.^ 
 
 " ' But she is far above you,' said the miller ; 
 'she has lots of gold, and you have none. 
 Don't you see that you cannot aspire to her V 
 
 " ' There is nothing or no one so high that 
 one may not reach if one is only determined 
 to do so,' said Rudy, getting angry. 
 
 " ' But you said not long since that you could 
 not reach the young eagle in its nest. Babette 
 is a still higher and more difScult prize for you 
 to take.' 
 
 " ' I will take them both,' replied Eudy. 
 
 " ' Yery well ! I will give her to you when 
 you bring me the young eaglet alive,' said the 
 miller, and he laughed until the tears stood in 
 his eyes. ' But now thank you for your visit, 
 Hudy ! If you come again to-morrow, you will 
 find no one at home. Farewell, Rudy !' 
 
G8 
 
 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 " And Babette also said farewell, in as timid 
 and pitiable voice as that of a little kitten which 
 cannot see its mother. 
 
 " ' A promise is a promise, and a man is a 
 man !' said Rudy. ' Do not weep, Babette ; I 
 shall bring the young eagle.' 
 
 " ' You will break your neck, I hope !' ex- 
 claimed the miller ; ' then we shall be free of 
 this bad job.' I call that sending him off with 
 a flea in his ear ! ISTow Rudy is gone, and Ba- 
 bette sits and cries, but the miller sings Ger- 
 man Bongs which he learnt in his journey. I 
 shall not distress myself about the matter ; it 
 would do no good," 
 
 " But it is all very cuiious," said the kitchen 
 cat. 
 
THE EAGLE'S NEST. 
 
 l^'fy^'^'ROM. the monntain path came tlie 
 ^^i 1^ sound of a person whistling in a strain 
 so lively that it betokened good- 
 humor and undaunted courage. The 
 whistler was Rudy ; he was going to 
 his friend Yesinand. 
 " You must help me ! "We shall take 
 Kagli with us. I must carry off the young 
 eagle up yonder under the shelving rock !" 
 
 " Had you not better try first to take down 
 the moon ? That would be about as hopeful 
 an undertaking," said Yesinand. " You are in 
 great spirits, I see." 
 
 "Yes, for I am thinking of my wedding. 
 But now, to speak seriously, you shall know 
 how matters stand with me." 
 
 And Yesinand and Ragli were soon made 
 acquainted with what Eudy wished. 
 
 " You are a daring fellow," they said, " but 
 you wont succeed — ^you will break your neck." 
 
TO LITTLE ELTDT. 
 
 " One does not fall if one lias no fear !" said 
 Eudj. 
 
 About midniglit they set out witli alpen- 
 stocks, ladders, and ropes. The road lay thi'ongh 
 copsewood and brushwood, over rolling stones 
 upwards, always upwards, upwards in the dark 
 and gloomy night. The waters roared below, 
 the waters murmured above, humid clouds 
 swept heavily along. The hunters reached at 
 length the precipitous ridge of rock. It be- 
 came even darker here, for the walls of rock 
 almost met, and light penetrated only a little 
 way down from the open space above. Close 
 by, under them, was a deep abyss, with its 
 hoarse-sounding, raging water. 
 
 They sat all three quite still. They had to 
 await the dawn of day, when the parent eagle 
 should fly out ; then only could they fire if 
 they had any hope to capture the young one. 
 Rudy sat as still as if he had been a portion of 
 the rock on which he sat. He held his gun 
 ready to fire ; his eyes were steadily fixed on 
 the highest part of the cleft, under a projecting 
 rock of w^hich the eagle's nest was concealed. 
 The three hunters had long to wait. 
 
 At length, high above them was heard a 
 crashing, whirring noise ; the ah was darkened 
 
LITTLE EUDY, 71 
 
 by a large object soaring in it. Two guns 
 were ready to aim at the enormous eagle tlie 
 moment it flew from its nest. A shot was 
 fired ; for an instant the outspread wings flut- 
 tered, and tlien the bird began to sink slowly, 
 and it seemed as if with its size and the stretch 
 of its wings it would fill the whole chasm, and 
 in its fall drag the hunters down with it. The 
 eagle disappeared in the abyss below ; the crack- 
 ing of the trees and bushes was heard, which 
 were snapped and crushed in the fall of the stu- 
 pendous bu'd. 
 
 And now commenced the business that 
 brouo;ht the hunters there. Three of the lons;- 
 est ladders were tied securely together. They 
 were intended to reach the outermost and last 
 stepping-place on the margin of the abyss ; but 
 they did not reach so high up, and smooth as a 
 well-built wall was the perpendicular rocky as- 
 cent a good way higher up, where the nest was 
 hidden under the shelter of the uppermost pro- 
 jecting portion of rock. After some consulta- 
 tion the young men came to the conclusion, 
 that there was nothing better to be done than 
 to hoist far up two more ladders tied together, 
 and then to attach these to the three which had 
 already been raised. With immense difliculty 
 
72 LITTLE RUDY. 
 
 they puslied the two ladders up, and the ropes 
 were made fast ; the ladders shot out from over 
 the rock, andhimg there swaying m the air above 
 the unfathomable depth beneath. Rudy had 
 placed himself already on the lowest step. It 
 was an ice-cold morning ; the mist was rising 
 heavily from the dark chasm below. Rudy 
 sat as a fly sits upon some swinging straw which 
 a bird, building its nest, might have dropped on 
 the edge of the lofty ejrj it had chosen for its 
 site ; but the insect could fly if the straw gave 
 way — Rudy could but break his neck. The 
 wind was howling around him, and away in 
 the abyss below roared the gushing water 
 from the meltino; o-lacier — the Ice-maiden's 
 palace. 
 
 His ascent set the ladder into a tremulous mo- 
 tion, as the spider does which holds fast to its 
 long waving slender thread. When Rudy had 
 gained the top of the fourth ladder, he felt more 
 confidence in them : he knew that they had 
 been bound together by sure and skilful hands, 
 though they dangled as if they had had but 
 slight fastenings. 
 
 But there was even more dangerous work be- 
 fore Rudy than mounting a line of ladders that 
 now swayed like a frame of rushes in the air, and 
 
LITTLE EUDY. 73 
 
 now knocked against the perpendicular rock : 
 lie had to climb as a cat climbs. But Rudy 
 could do that, thanks to the cat who had taught 
 him. He did not perceive the presence of Yer- 
 tigo, who trod the air behind him, and stretched 
 forth her polypus-arms after him. He gained, 
 at length, the last step of the highest ladder, 
 and then he observed that he had not got high 
 enough even to see into the nest. It was only 
 by using his hands that he could raise himself 
 up to it ; he tried if the lowest part of the thick 
 interlaced underwood, which formed the base 
 of the nest, was sufficiently strong ; and when 
 he had assured himself that the stunted trees 
 were firm, he swung himself up by them from 
 the ladder, until his head and breast had reached 
 the level of the nest. But then poured forth on 
 him a stifling stench of carrion ; for putrefied 
 lambs, chamois, and birds, lay there crowded 
 together. 
 
 Swimming-in-the-Head, a sister to Yertigo, 
 though it could not overpower him, puffed the 
 disgusting, almost poisonous odor into his face, 
 that he might become faint ; and down below, 
 in the black yawning ravine, upon the dank 
 dashing waters, sat the Ice-maiden herself, with 
 her long pale green hair, and gazed upwards 
 
74 LITTLE EUDY. I 
 
 with her death-giving eyes, while she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " ]^ow I will seize yoii !" 
 
 In a corner of the eagle's nest, Rudy beheld 
 the eaglet sitting — a large and powerful crea- 
 ture, even though it could not yet fly. Eudy 
 fixed his eyes on it, held on marvellously with 
 one hand, and with the other hand cast a noose 
 around the young eagle ; it was captured alive, 
 its legs were in the tightened cord, and Eudy 
 flung the sling with the bird over his shoulder, 
 so that the creature hmig a good way down be- 
 neath him, as, with the help of a rope, he held 
 on, until his foot touched at last the highest 
 step of the ladder. 
 
 " Hold fast ! don't fear to fall, and you will 
 not do so !" Such was his early lesson, and 
 Eudy acted on it : he held fast, crept down, 
 and did not fall. 
 
 Then arose a shout of joy and congratulation. 
 Eudy stood safely on the rocky ground, laden 
 with his prize, the young eagle. 
 
WHAT MORE THE 
 PARLOR CAT HAD TO TELL. 
 
 EEE is what you demanded !" said 
 Eudy, as he entered the miller's house 
 at Bex, and placed on the floor a large 
 basket. When he took its cover off, 
 there glared forth two yellow eyes sur- 
 rounded with a dark ring — eyes so 
 flashing, so wild, that they looked as 
 though they would burn or blast every thing 
 they saw ; the short hard beak opened to bite ; 
 the neck was red and downy. 
 
 " The young eagle !" exclauned the miller. 
 Babette screamed, and sprang to one side, but 
 could not take her eyes off of Eudy and the 
 eaglet. 
 
 "You are not to be frightened!" said the 
 miller, addressing Eudy. 
 
 " And you will keep your word," said Eudy ; 
 " every one has his object." 
 
76 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 " But how is it that you did not break your 
 neck ?" asked the miller, 
 
 " Because I held fast," replied Eudy ; " and 
 so I > now — I hold fast to Babette." 
 
 " "W , .it till you get her !" said the miller, 
 laughing, and Babette thought that was a good 
 sign. 
 
 "Let us take the young eagle out of the 
 basket ; it is frightful to see how its eyes glare. 
 How did you manage to capture it ?" 
 
 Rudy had to describe his feat, and, as he 
 spoke, the miller's eyes opened wider and 
 wider. 
 
 "With your confidence and your good for- 
 tune, you might maintain three wives," said the 
 miller. 
 
 " Oh, thank you !" cried Rudy. 
 
 " But you wont get Babette just yet," said 
 the miller, slapping the young Alpine hunter 
 with good-hiunor on his shoulder. 
 
 " Do you know there is something going on 
 again here ?" said the parlor cat to the kitchen 
 cat. " Rudy has brought us the young eagle, 
 and takes Babette as his reward. They have 
 kissed each other in the father's presence ! That 
 
LITTLE EUDT. T7 
 
 was as good as a betrothal. The old man did 
 not storm at all ; he kept in his claws, took an 
 afternoon nap, and left the two to sit and chat- 
 ter to each other. They have so much to say 
 that they will not be tired talking till Christ- 
 mas." 
 
 And they were not tired talking till Christ- 
 mas. The wind whirled in eddies through the 
 groves, and shook down the yellow leaves ; the 
 snow-drifts appeared in the valleys as well as 
 on the lofty hills ; the Ice-maiden sat in her 
 proud palace, which she occupied during the 
 winter-time;, the upright walls of rock were 
 covered with sleet; enormous masses of ice- 
 tapestry were to be seen where, in summer, the 
 mountain streams came pouring down ; fantas- 
 tic garlands of crystal ice hung over the snow- 
 powdered pine-trees. The Ice-maiden rode on 
 the howling wind, over the deepest dales. The 
 carpet of snow was laid as far down as Bex ; 
 she could go there, and see Rudy in the house 
 where he now passed so much of his time with 
 Babette. The wedding was to take place in 
 summer, and they heard enough of it — their 
 friends talked so much about it. 
 
 There came sunshine; the most beautiful 
 Alpine roses bloomed. The lovely, laughing 
 
78 
 
 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 Babette was as cTiarming as the early spring — 
 the spring which makes all the birds sing of 
 summer-time, when was to be the wedding-day. 
 " How these two do sit and hang over each 
 other !" exclaimed the parlor cat. " I am sick 
 of aU this stuff." 
 
THE ICE-MAIDEN'S 
 SCORN OF MANKIND 
 
 I PRING liad unfolded ter fresli green 
 garlands of walnut and chestnut trees, 
 which were bursting into bloom, par- 
 ticularly in the country that extends 
 from the bridge at St. Maurice to the 
 Lake of Geneva and the banks of the 
 Rhone, which with wild speed rushes 
 from its source under the green glaciers,— the 
 Ice-palace where the Ice-maiden dwells— 
 whence, on the keen wind, she permits herself 
 to be borne up to the highest fields of snow, 
 and, in the warm sunshine, reclines on their 
 drifting masses. Here she sat, and gazed fix- 
 edly down into the deep valley beneath, where 
 human beings, like ants on a sunlit stone, were 
 to be seen busily moving about. 
 
 " Beings of mental power, as the children ol 
 
80 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 the sun call you/' cried the Ice-maiclen, "ye 
 are but vennin ! Let a snowball but roll down, 
 and you and your houses and your villages are 
 crushed and overwhelmed." And she raised 
 her proud head higher, and looked with death- 
 threatening eyes around her and below her. 
 But from the valley arose a strange sound ; it 
 was the blasting of rocks — the work of men — 
 the forming of roads and tunnels before the 
 railway was laid down. 
 
 " They are working underground like moles ; 
 they are digging passages in the rock, and 
 therefore are heard these sounds like the re 
 ports of guns. I shall remove my palaces, for 
 the noise is greater than the roar of thunder 
 itself." 
 
 There ascended from the valley a thick 
 smoke, which seemed agitated like a fluttering 
 veil : it came curling up from the locomotive, 
 which upon the newly opened railway drew 
 the train, that, carriage linked to carriage, 
 looked like a winding serpent. With an ar- 
 row's speed it shot past. 
 
 " They pretend to be the masters down yon- 
 der, these powers of mind !" exclaimed the Ice- 
 maiden ; " but the mighty powers of nature are 
 6till the rulers." 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 81 
 
 And she laughed, she sang; her voice re- 
 sounded through the valley. 
 
 " An avalanche is falling !" cried the people 
 down there. 
 
 Then the children of the sun sang in louder 
 strains about the power of thought in mankind. 
 It commands all, it brings the wide ocean un 
 der the yoke, levels mountains, tills up valleys ; 
 the power of thought in mankind makes them 
 lords over the powers of nature. 
 
 Just at that moment, there came, crossing 
 the snow-field where the Ice-maiden sat, a party 
 of travellers ; they had bound themselves fast 
 to each other, to be as one large body upon the 
 slippery ice, near the deep abyss. 
 
 " Yermin !" she exclaimed. " Y^ou the lords 
 of the powers of natm-e !" and she turned away 
 from them, and looked scornfully towards the 
 deep valley, where the railway train was rush- 
 ing by. 
 
 " There they go, these thoughts ! They are 
 full of might; I see them everywhere. One 
 stands alone like a king, others stand in a 
 group, and yonder half of them are asleep. 
 And when the steam-engine stops still, they 
 get out and go their way. The thoughts then 
 go forth into the world." And she laughed. 
 
82 LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 " There goes another avalanche !" said the 
 inhabitants of the valley. 
 
 " It will not reach us," cried two who sat 
 together in the train — "two souls, but one 
 mind," as has been said. These were Rudy 
 and Babette ; the miller accompanied them. 
 
 " Like baggage," he said, " I am with them 
 as a sort of necessary appendage." 
 
 " There sit the two," said the Ice-maiden. 
 " Many a chamois have I crushed, millions of 
 Alpine roses have I snapped and broken, not a 
 root left — I destroyed them all ! Thought — 
 power of mind, indeed !" 
 
 And she lauo-hed a^ain. 
 
 " There goes another avalanche !" said those 
 down in the valley. 
 
 % 
 
THE GODMOTHER. 
 
 T Montreux, one of the nearest towns, 
 which, with Clarens, Bernex, and Crin, 
 encircle the northeast part of the 
 Lake of Geneva, resided Babette's 
 godmother, the distinguished English 
 lady, with her daughters and a young 
 relation. They had only lately ar- 
 rived, yet the miller had already paid them a 
 visit, announced Babette's engagement, and 
 told about Kudy and the young eagle, the visit 
 to Interlaken — in short, the whole story ; and 
 it had highly interested his hearers, and pleased 
 them with Rudy, Babette, and even the miller 
 himself. They were invited all three to come 
 to Montreux, and they went ; Babette ought to 
 see her godmother, and her godmother wished 
 to see her. 
 
 At the little town of Yilleneuve, about the 
 end of the Lake of Geneva, lay the steamboat, 
 that, in a voyage of half an horn*, went from 
 
84 LITTLE ETIDT, 
 
 thence to Bernex, a little way below Montreux. 
 It is a coast wliich has often been celebrated in 
 song by poets. There, under the walnut-trees, 
 on the banks of the deep bluish-green lake, 
 Byron sat, and wrote his melodious verses 
 about the prisoner in the gloomy mountain- 
 castle of Chillon. There, where Clarens is re- 
 flected amidst weeping willows in the clear 
 water, wandered Rousseau, dreaming of Eloise. 
 The river Rhone glides away under the lofty 
 snow-clad hills of Savoy ; here there lies not far 
 from its mouth a small island, so small that 
 from the shore it looks as if it were but a toy 
 islet. It is a patch of rocky ground, wliich 
 about a century ago a lady caused to be walled 
 round and covered with earth, in which three 
 acacia-trees were planted; these now over- 
 shadow the whole island. Babette liad always 
 been charmed with this little islet ; she thought 
 it the loveliest spot that was to be seen on the 
 whole voyage. She said she would like so much 
 to land there — she must land there — it would 
 be so delightful under these beautiful trees. 
 But the steamer passed it by, and did not stop 
 until it had reached Bernex. 
 
 The little party proceeded thence up amidst 
 the white sunlit walls that sm-rounded the vine- 
 
^ LITTLE EUDY, 85"' 
 
 yards in front of the little town of Montreux, 
 "where the peasants' houses are shaded by fig- 
 trees, and laurels and cypresses grow in the- 
 gardens. Half-way up the ascent stood the. 
 boarding-house where the godmother lived. 
 
 The meeting was very cordial. The god- 
 mother was a stout pleasant-looking woman,, 
 with a round smiling face. "When a child she 
 must certainly have exhibited quite a Raphael- 
 like cherub's head ; it was still an angel's head,, 
 but older, and with silver-white hair clustering 
 round it. The daughters were well-dressed, ele- 
 gant-looking, tall and slender. The young, 
 cousin who was with them, and who was dressed 
 in white almost from top to toe, and had red hair 
 and red whiskers large enough to have been di- 
 vided among three gentlemen, began immediate- 
 ly to pay the utmost attention to little Babette.. 
 Splendidly bound books and drawings were ly- 
 ing on the large table ; music-books were also 
 to be seen in the room. The balcony looked 
 out upon the beautiful lake, which was so 
 bright and calm that the mountains of Savoy,, 
 with their villages, woods, and snow-peaks^ 
 were clearly reflected in it. 
 
 Rudy, who was generally so lively and so 
 undaunted, found himself not at all at his ease. 
 
86 LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 He was obliged to be as much on his guard as 
 if he were walking on peas over a slippery floor. 
 How tediously time passed ! It was like being 
 in a treadmill. And now they were to go out 
 to walk ! This was quite as tiresome. Two 
 steps forward and one backward Rudy had to 
 take to keep pace with the others. Down to 
 Chillon, the gloomy old castle on the rocky 
 island, they went, to look at instruments of tor- 
 ture and dmigeons, rusty fetters attached to the 
 rocky walls, stone pallets for those condemned 
 to death, trap-doors through which the unfor- 
 tunate creatures were hurled down to fall upon 
 iron spikes amidst burning piles. They called 
 it a pleasure to look at all these ! A dreadful 
 place of execution it was, elevated by Byron's 
 verse into the world of poetry. Rudy viewed 
 it only as a place of execution. He leaned 
 against the wide stone embrasure of the win- 
 dow, and gazed down on the deep blue-green 
 of the water, and over to the little solitary 
 island with the three acacias; how much he 
 wished himself there — free from the whole bab- 
 bling party ! 
 
 But Babette felt quite happy. She had been 
 excessively amused, she said afterwards; the 
 cousin had " found her perfect." 
 
LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 87 
 
 " Oil yes — mere idle talk !" replied Eudy ; 
 and tliis was tlie first time lie liad ever said 
 ny thing tliat did not please her. . 
 
 The Englishman had made her a present of 
 a little book as a souvenir of Chillon ; it was 
 Byron's poem, the " Prisoner of Chillon," trans- 
 lated into French, so that Babette was able to 
 read it. 
 
 " The book may be good enough," said Eudy, 
 " but the nicely combed fop who gave it to yon 
 is no favorite of mine." 
 
 " He looks like a meal-sack without meal," 
 cried the miller, laughing at his own wit. 
 
 Rudy laughed too, and said it was an excel- 
 lent remark. 
 
THE COUSIN 
 
 BffiN Rudy, a few days afterwards, 
 went to pay a visit to the miller, he 
 found the young Englishman there. 
 Babette had just placed before him a 
 plate of trout, and she had taken 
 much pains to decorate the dish. 
 Rudy thought that was unnecessary. 
 What was the Enghslunan doing there ? What 
 did he want ? Why was he thus served and 
 pampered by Babette ? Rudy was jealous, and 
 that pleased Babette. It amused her to see all 
 the feelings of his heart — the strong and the 
 weak. Love was to her as yet but a pastime, 
 and she played with Rudy's whole heart ; but 
 nevertheless it is certain that he was the centre 
 of all her thoughts — the dearest, the most val- 
 ued in this w^orld. Still, the more gloomy he 
 looked, the merrier her eyes laughed. She 
 could almost have kissed the fair Iiinglishraan 
 with the red whiskers, if she could, by doing this, 
 
LrrTLE KUDY. 
 
 89 
 
 have seen Rudy rush out in a rage ; it would have 
 shown her how greatly she was beloved by him 
 
 This was not right, not wise in little Babette , 
 but she was only nineteen years of age. She 
 did not reflect on her unkindness to Rudy ; 
 still less did she think how her conduct might 
 appear to the young Englishman, or if it were 
 not lighter and more wanting in propriety than 
 became the miller's modest, lately betrothed 
 daughter. 
 
 Where the highway from Bex passes under 
 the snow-clad rocky heights, which, in the lan- 
 guage of the country are called DiaMerets, 
 stood the mill, not far from a rapid rushing 
 mountain stream of a grayish-white color, and 
 looking as if covered with soapsuds. It was 
 not that which turned the mill, but a smaller 
 stream, which on the other side of the river 
 came tumbling down the rocks, and through a 
 circular reservoir surrounded by stones, in the 
 road beneath, with its violence and speed 
 forced itself up and ran into an inclosed basin, 
 a wide dam, which, above the rushing river, 
 turned the large wheel of the mill. When the 
 dam was full of water it overflowed, and caused 
 the path to be so damp and slippery that it was 
 difficult to walk on it ; and there was the chance 
 
 8* 
 
90 Ln'ILE EUDY. 
 
 of a fall into the water, and being carried by 
 it more swiftly than pleasantly towards the 
 mill. Such a mishap had nearly befallen the 
 young Englishman. Equipped in white, like a 
 miller's man, he was climbing the path in the 
 evening, guided by the light that shone from 
 Babette's chamber window. He had never 
 learned to climb, and had almost gone head- 
 foremost into the water, but escaped with wet 
 arms and bespattered clothes. Covered with 
 mud and dirty-looking, he arrived beneath Ba- 
 bette's window, clambered up the old linden- 
 tree, and there began to mimic the owl — no 
 other bird could he attempt to imitate. Ba- 
 bette heard the sounds, and peeped through the 
 thin curtains ; but when she saw the man in 
 white, and felt certain who he was, her little 
 heart beat with terror, and also with anger. 
 She quickly extinguished her light, felt if the 
 window was securely fastened, and then left 
 iim to screech at his leisure. 
 
 How terrible it would be if Rudy were now 
 .at the mill ! But Rudy was not at the mill : 
 no — it was much worse — he was close by out- 
 iside. High words were spoken — angry words 
 — there might be blows, there might even be 
 anurder ! 
 
^^ LITTLE BUDT. 91 
 
 Babette hastened to open lier window, and, 
 calling Rudy's name, bade him go away, add- 
 ing that she could not permit him to remain 
 there. 
 
 " You will not permit me to remain here !" 
 he exclaimed. " Then this is an appointment ! 
 You are expecting some good friend — some one 
 whom you prefer to me ! Shame on you, Ba- 
 bette !" 
 
 "You are unbearable!" cried Babette; "I 
 hate you !" and she burst into tears. " Go — 
 go!" 
 
 " I have not deserved this," said Rudy, as he 
 went away, his cheeks like fire, his heart like 
 fire. 
 
 Babette threw herself weeping on her bed. 
 
 " And you can think ill of me, Rudy — of me 
 who love you so dearly !" 
 
 She Avas angry — very angry, and that wag 
 good for her ; she would otherwise have been 
 deeply afflicted. As it was, she could fall 
 asleep and slumber as only youth can do. 
 
EYIL POWERS. 
 
 fUDT left Bex, and took Ms wav liorae- 
 wards, choosing the patli up the moun- 
 tains, with its cold fresh air, where, 
 \^''^j7d amidst the deep snow, the Ice-maiden 
 cy^ holds her sway. The largest trees 
 e^ with their thick foliage looked so 
 far below, as if they were but potato 
 tops ; the pines and the bushes became smaller ; 
 the Alpine roses were covered with snow, 
 which lay in single patches, like linen on a 
 bleach-field. One solitary blue gentian stood 
 in his path ; he crushed it with the butt-end of 
 his gun. 
 
 Higher up, two chainois showed themselves. 
 Rudy's eyes sparkled, and his thoughts took 
 flight into another channel, but he was not near 
 enough for a sure aim. Higher still he as- 
 cended, where only a few blades of grass grew 
 amidst the blocks of ice. The chamois passed 
 in peace over the fields of snow. Rudy pressed 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 93 
 
 angrily on ; thick mists gathered around him, 
 and presently he found himself on the brink of 
 the steep precipice of rock. The rain began to 
 fall in torrents. He felt a burning thirst ; his 
 head was hot, his limbs were cold. He sought 
 for his hunting-flask, but it was empty : he had 
 not given it a thought when he rushed up the 
 mountains. He had never been ill in his life, 
 but now he experienced a sensation like illness. 
 He was very tired, and felt a strong desire to 
 throw himself down and sleep, but water was 
 streaming all around him. He tried to rouse 
 himself, biit every object seemed to be dancing 
 in a strange manner before his eyes. 
 
 Suddenly he beheld what he had never be- 
 fore seen there — a newly built low hut that 
 leaned against the rock, and in the doorway 
 stood a young girl. He thought she was the 
 schoolmaster's daughter, Annette, whom he had 
 once kissed in the dance, but she was not An- 
 nette; yet certainly he had seen her before, 
 perhaps near Grindelwald the evening he was 
 retm-ning home from the shooting matches at 
 Interlaken. 
 
 " How did you come here ?" he asked. 
 
 " I am at home," she replied ; " I am watch- 
 ing my flocks." 
 
94 LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 " Your flocks ! Where do tliej find grass ? 
 Here there is nothing but snow and rocks." 
 
 " You know much about it, to be sure," she 
 said, laughing. " Behind this, a little way 
 do^^'n, is a very nice piece of pasture-land. My 
 goats go there. I take good care of them ; I 
 never miss one ; I keep what belongs to me.'" 
 
 " You are stout-hearted," said Kudj. 
 
 " And so are you," she answered. 
 
 "If you have any milk, pray give me some, 
 my thirst is almost intolerable." 
 
 " I have something better than milk," she 
 replied; "you shall have that. To-day some 
 travellers came here with their guides ; they 
 left half a flask of wdne behind them. They 
 will not return for it, and I shall not drink it, 
 so you shall have it." 
 
 She went for the wine, poured it into a wood- 
 en goblet, and gave it to Rudy. 
 
 " It is excellent," said he : " I never tasted 
 any wine so warming, so reviving." And his 
 eyes beamed with a wondrous brilliancy ; there 
 came a thrill of enjojTuent, a glow over him, as 
 if every sorrow and every vexation were van- 
 ishing from his mind ; the free gushing feeling 
 of man's nature awoke in him. 
 
 " But you are surely Annette, the schoolmas- 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 95 
 
 ter's daughter," lie exclaimed. " Give me a 
 kiss." 
 
 " First give me the pretty ring you wear on 
 your finger." 
 
 " My betrothal ring ?" 
 
 " Yes, just it," said the girl ; and, replenish- 
 ing the goblet with wine, she held it to his lips, 
 and again he drank. A strange sense of pleas- 
 ure seemed to rush into his very blood. The 
 whole world was his, he seemed to fancy — why 
 torment himself? Every thing is given for our 
 gratification and enjoyment. The stream of life 
 is the stream of happiness : flow on with it, let 
 yourself be borne away on it — that is felicity. 
 He gazed on the young gii-l. She was Annette, 
 and yet not Annette ; still less was she the magi- 
 cal phantom, as he had called her whom he had 
 met near Grindelwald. The girl up here upon 
 the mountain was fresh as the new-fallen snow ; 
 blooming like an Alpine rose, and lively as a 
 kid ; yet still formed from Adam's rib, a human 
 being like Rudy himself. And he flung his 
 arms around her, and gazed into her marvel- 
 lously clear eyes. It was only for a moment ; 
 and in that moment how shall it be expressed, 
 how described in words ? "Was it the life of the 
 
96 LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 spirit or the life of cleatli which took possession 
 of him ? Was he raised liigher, or was he sink- 
 ing down into the deep icy abyss, deeper, al- 
 ways deeper ? He beheld the walls of ice shi- 
 ning like blue-green glass; endless crevasses 
 yawned aronnd him, and the waters dripped 
 with a sound like the chime of bells — they were 
 clear as a pearl lighted by pale blue flames. 
 The Ice-maiden kissed him; it chilled him 
 through his whole body. He uttered a cry of 
 horror, broke resolutely away from her, stum- 
 bled and fell ; all became dark to his eyes, but 
 he opened them again. The evil powers had 
 played their game. 
 
 The Alpine girl was gone, the sheltering hut 
 was gone ; water poured down the naked rocks, 
 and snow lay all around. Rudy was shivering 
 with cold, soaked through to the very skin, and 
 his ring was gone — the betrothal ring Babette 
 had given him. His gun lay on the snow close 
 by him ; he took it up, and tried to discharge 
 it, but it missed fire. Damp clouds rested like 
 thick masses of snow on the mountain clefts. 
 Vertigo sat there, and glared upon her power- 
 less prey, and beneath her rang through the 
 deep crevasse a sound as if a mass of rock had 
 
LITTLE EIJDT. 
 
 97 
 
 fallen down, and was crushing and carrying 
 
 away every thing that opposed it in its furious 
 
 descent. 
 
 At the miller's, Babette sat and wept. Six 
 
 days had elapsed since Rudy had been there — 
 
 he was in the wrong, he who ought to ask her 
 
 forgiveness, for she loved him with her whole 
 
 heart. 
 
 9 
 
AT THE MILLER'S HOUSE. 
 
 I OW frightftillj foolisli mankind are !" 
 
 "i^ said the parlor cat to tlie kitclien cat. 
 
 " It is all broken off now between Ba- 
 
 bette and Eudj. She sits and cries, 
 
 and he thinks no more about her." 
 
 " I don't like that," said the kitchen 
 cat. 
 " ISTor I either," re^Dlied the parlor cat, " but 
 I am not going to distress mjself about it. 
 Babette can take the red whiskers for her sweet- 
 heart. He has not been here since the even- 
 ing he wanted to go on the roof." 
 
 The powers of evil carry on their game with- 
 out and within us. Kudj was aware of this, 
 and he reflected on it. - What had passed 
 around him and within him up yonder on the 
 mountain? Was it sin, or was it a fever 
 dream ? He had never known fever or illness 
 before. While he blamed Babette, he took a 
 retrospective glance within himself. He thought 
 
Eabettc's Lectury. 
 
^ 
 
LITTLE EUDY. 99 
 
 of the wild tornado in his heart, the hot whirl- 
 wind which had recently broken loose there. 
 Could he confess all to Babette — every thought 
 which, in the hour of temptation, might have 
 been carried out ? He had lost her ring, and 
 in this very loss she had won him back. Was 
 any confession due from her to him ? He felt 
 as if his heart were breaking when his thoughts 
 reverted to her — so many recollections crowded 
 on his mind. He saw in her a laughing merry 
 child, full of life ; many an affectionate word 
 she had addressed to him in the fulness of her 
 heart, came, like a ray of the sun, to gladden his 
 soul, and soon it was all sunshine there for Ba- 
 bette. 
 
 She must, however, apologize to him, and 
 she should do so. 
 
 He went to the miller's, and confession fol- 
 lowed : it began with a kiss and ended in Ru- 
 dy's being the sinner. His great fault was that 
 he could have doubted Babette's constancy — 
 that was too bad of him ! Such distrust, such 
 impetuosity might cause misery to them both. 
 Yes, very true ! and therefore Babette preached 
 him a little sermon, which pleased herself vast- 
 ly, and during which she looked very pretty. 
 But, in one particular, Rudy was right — the 
 
100 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 goclmotlier's iiepliew was a mere babbler. She 
 would burn tbe book lie had given her, and not 
 keep the slightest article that would remind her 
 of him, 
 
 " "Well, it is all right again," said the parlor 
 cat. " Eudy has come back, they have made 
 friends ; and that is the greatest of pleasures, 
 they say." 
 
 " I heard during the night," said the kitchen 
 cat, "the rats declaring that the greatest of 
 pleasures was to eat candle-grease and to ban- 
 quet on tainted meat. Which of them is to be 
 believed, the lovers or the rats ?" 
 
 "ISTeither of them," replied the parlor cat. 
 " It is always safest to believe no one." 
 
 The greatest happiness for liudy and Babette 
 was about to take place ; the auspicious day, as 
 it is called, was approaching — their wedding- 
 day! 
 
 But not in the church at Bex, not at the mill- 
 er's house, was the wedding to be solemnized ; 
 the godmother had requested that the marriage 
 should be celebrated at her abode, and that the 
 ceremony should be performed in the pretty 
 little church at Montreux. The miller was 
 very urgent that this arrangement should be 
 agreed to : he alone knew what the godmother 
 
LITTLE KTJDT. 101 
 
 intended to bestow on the young couple ; they 
 were to receive from her a wedding gift that 
 was well worth such a small concession to her 
 wishes. The day was fixed ; they were to go to 
 Villeneuve the evening before, in order to pro- 
 ceed by an early steamer next morning to Mon- 
 treux, that the godmother's daughters might 
 adorn the bride. 
 
 " There ought to be a second day's wedding 
 here in this house," said the parlor cat ; " else 
 I am sure I would not give a mew for the whole 
 affair." 
 
 " There is going to be a grand feast," replied 
 the kitchen cat. "Ducks and pigeons have 
 been killed, and an entire deer hangs against 
 the wall. My mouth waters when I look at all 
 this. To-morrow they commence their jour- 
 ney." 
 
 Tes, to-morrow ! That evening Rudy and 
 Babette sat as a betrothed couple for the last 
 time at the miller's house. Outside was to be 
 seen the Alpine glow ; the evening bells were 
 ringing ; the daughters of the sun sang, " That 
 which is best will be !" 
 
NIGHT VISIONS. 
 
 HE sun had set ; the clouds lay low in 
 tlie valley of the Ehone ; amidst the 
 lofty mountains, the wind blew from 
 the south — an African wind. Sud- 
 denly over the high Alps there arose 
 a " Fohn," which swept the clouds 
 asunder; and when the wind had 
 lulled, all became for a moment perfectly still. 
 The scattered clouds hung in fantastic fonns 
 amidst the wooded hills that skirted the rapid 
 Rhone ; they hung in forms like those of the 
 marine animals of the antediluvian world, like 
 eagles hovering in the air, and like frogs spring- 
 ing in a marsh ; they sank down over the gush- 
 ing river, and seemed to sail upon it, yet it was 
 in the air they sailed. The current carried 
 with it an uprooted pine-tree ; the water whirled 
 in eddies around it. It was Yertigo and some 
 of her sisters that were thus dancing in circles 
 
LITTLE EUDY. 103 
 
 upon tlie foaming stream. The moon slione on 
 the snow-capped hills, on the dark woods, on 
 the curious white clouds — those appearances oi 
 the night that seem to he the spirits of na- 
 ture. The mountain peasant saw them through 
 his little window ; they sailed outside in hosts 
 before the Ice-maiden, who came from her gla- 
 cier palace. She sat on a frail skiif, the up- 
 rooted pine ; the water from the glaciers bore 
 her down to the river near the lake. 
 
 " The wedding guests are coming !" the air 
 and the waters seemed to murmur and to sing. 
 
 "Warnino's without, warnino-s within ! Ba- 
 bette had an extraordinary dream. 
 
 It seemed to her as if she were married to 
 Rudy, and had been so for many years ; that 
 he was out chamois-hunting, but slie was at 
 home; and that the young Englishman with 
 the red whiskers was sitting with her. His 
 eyes were full of passion, his words had as it 
 were a magic power in them ; he held out his 
 hand to her, and she felt compelled to go with 
 him ; they went forth from her home, and went 
 always downwards. And Babette felt as it 
 there were a weight in her heart, which was 
 becoming every moment heavier. She was 
 committing a sin against Eudy — a sin against 
 
104 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 God. And suddenly slie found lierself forsaken ; 
 her dress was torn to pieces by thorns, her hair 
 was gray. She looked upwards in deep distress, 
 and on the margin of a mountain rido;e she 
 beheld Rudy. She stretched her arms up to- 
 wards him, but did not dare either to call to 
 him or to jDray ; and neither would have been 
 of any avail, for she soon perceived that it was 
 not himself, but only his shooting jacket and 
 cap, which were hanging on an alpenstock, as 
 hunters sometimes place them to deceive the 
 chamois. And in great misery Babette ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Oh that I had died on my wedding-day — the 
 day that was the happiest of my life ! O Lord 
 my God ! that would have been a mercy — a 
 blessing ! That would have been the best thing 
 that could have happened for me and Rudy. 
 1^0 one knows his future fate." And in impi- 
 ous despair she cast herself down into the deep 
 mountain chasm. A string seemed to have 
 broken — a tone of sorrow was echoed aromid. 
 
 Babette awoke. Her vision was at an end, 
 and what had happened in the dream-world 
 had partially vanished fi'om her mind ; but she 
 knew that she had dreamt something frightfid, 
 and dreamt about the young Englishman, whom 
 
LITTLE EIJDT. 
 
 105 
 
 she had not seen or thought of for several 
 months. Could he still be at Montreux? 
 "Would she see him at her wedding ? A slight 
 shade of displeasure stole around Babette's 
 pretty mouth, and for a moment her eyebrows 
 knitted; but soon came a smile and a gay 
 sparkle in her eyes. The sun was shining so 
 brightly without, and to-morrow was her and 
 Kudy's wedding-day ! 
 
 He was already in the parlor when she came 
 down, and shortly after they set oif for Ville- 
 neuve. The two were all happiness, and the 
 miller likewise ; he laughed and joked, and was 
 in the highest spirits. A kind father, a good 
 soul, he was. 
 
 " ]^ow we have the house to ourselves," said 
 the parlor cat. 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 T was not yet late in the clay when the 
 ^ three joyous travellers reached Yille- 
 neuve. After they had dined, the miller 
 placed himself in a comfortable arm-chair 
 with his pipe, intending, when he had 
 done smoking, to take a short naj). The 
 affianced couple went arm in arm out of 
 the town, along the high road, under the wooded 
 hills that bordered the blue-green lake. The 
 gray walls and heavy towers of the melancholy- 
 looking Chillon were reflected in the clear wa- 
 ter. The little island with the three acacias 
 seemed quite near ; it looked like a bouquet on 
 the calm lake. 
 
 " How charming it must be over yonder !" 
 exclaimed Babette, who felt again the greatest 
 desire to go to it ; and her wish might be gratified 
 at once, for a boat was lying close to the bank, 
 and the rope by which it was secured was easy 
 
LITTLE EUDT. 107 
 
 to undo. There was no one to be seen of whom 
 tliey could ask permission to take it, so they 
 got into it without leave. Kndj knew very 
 well how to row. The oars, like the fins of a 
 fish, divided the mass of water that is so pliant 
 and yet so potent, so strong to bear, so ready 
 to swallow — gentle, smiling, smoothness itself, 
 and yet terror-inspiring and mighty to de- 
 stroy. A line of foam floated behind the 
 boat, which, in a few minutes, arrived at the 
 little island, where the happy pair immedi- 
 ately landed. There was just room for two to 
 dance. 
 
 Rudy swung Babette three or four times 
 round, and then they sat down on the little 
 bench under the drooping acacia, and looked 
 into each other's eyes, and held each other's 
 hands, while around them streamed the last 
 rays of the setting sun. The pine forests on 
 the hills assumed a purplish red tint resem- 
 bling the hue of the blooming heather; and 
 where the trees stopped, and the bare rocks 
 stood forward, there was a rich lustre, as if the 
 mountain were transparent. The skies were 
 brilliant with a crimson glow; the whole lake 
 was covered with a tinge of pink, as if it had 
 been thickly strewn with fresh blushing roses. 
 
108 LITTLE EUDT. 
 
 As tlie shades of evening gathered around the 
 snow-decked mountains o£ Savoy, they became 
 of a dark blue in color, but the highest peaks 
 shone like red lava, and for a moment reflected 
 their light on the mountain forms before these 
 vast masses were lost in darkness. It was the 
 Alpine glow, and Rudy and Babette thought 
 they had never before beheld one so magnifi- 
 cent. The snow-bedecked Dent dii Midi 
 gleamed like the disk of the full moon when it 
 shows itself above the horizon. 
 
 " Oh, what beauty ! oh, what pleasure !" ex- 
 claimed the lovers at the same time. 
 
 " Earth can bestow no more on me," said 
 Eudy ; " an evening like this is as a whole life. 
 How often have I been sensible of my good 
 fortune, as I am sensible of it now, and have 
 thought, that if every thing were to come at 
 once to an end for me, I have lived a happy 
 life ! What a blessed world is this ! One day 
 ends, but another begins, and I always fancy 
 the last is the brightest Our Lord is infinitely 
 good, Babette." 
 
 " I am so happy !" she whispered. 
 
 " Earth can bestow no more on me," repeated 
 Rudy. And the evening bells rang from the 
 hills of Savoy and the mountains of Switzer- 
 
LITTLE KUDT. 109 
 
 land. In golden sj^lendor stood forth towards 
 the west tlie dark-blue Jura. 
 
 " God grant you all that is brightest and 
 best !" exclaimed Babette fervently. 
 
 " He will," said Rudy ; '" to-morrow will ful- 
 fil that wish — to-morrow you will be wholly 
 mine- — my own little charming wife." 
 
 " The boat !" cried Babette, at that moment. 
 
 The boat which was to take them across 
 again had got loose, and was drifting away 
 from the island. 
 
 " I will bring it back," said Rudy, as he took 
 off his coat and boots, and springing into the 
 lake, swam vigorously towards the boat. 
 
 Cold and deep was the clear bluish-green icy 
 water from the glacier of the mountain. Rudy 
 looked down into it — he took but a glance, yet 
 he saw a gold ring trembling, glittering, and 
 playing there. He thought of his lost be- 
 trothal ring, and the ring became larger and 
 extended itself out into a sparkling circle, 
 within which appeared the clear glacier ; end- 
 less deep chasms yawned around it, and the 
 water dropped tinkling like the sound of bells, 
 and gleaming with pale blue flames. In a sec- 
 ond he beheld what it will take many words to 
 describe. Young hunters and young girls, men 
 10 
 
110 LITTLE EUDY. 
 
 and ■svumen who had been lost in the cre/asses 
 of the glacier, stood there, lifelike, with open 
 eyes and smiling lips ; and far beneath them 
 arose from buried villages the church-bells' 
 chimes. Multitudes knelt under the vaulted 
 roofs ; ice-blocks formed the organ-pipes, and 
 the mountain torrents made the music. The 
 Ice-maiden sat on the clear transparent ground ; 
 she raised herself up towards Rudy, and kissed 
 his feet, and tliere passed throughout his limbs 
 a death-like chill, an electric shock — ice and 
 fire ; it was impossible to distinguish one from 
 the other in the quick touch. 
 
 " Mine ! mine !" sounded around him and 
 within him. " I kissed thee when thou wert 
 little — kissed thee on thy mouth ! Now I kiss 
 thee on thy feet ; now thou art wholly mine !" 
 
 And he disappeared in the clear blue water. 
 
 All was still around. The church-bells had 
 ceased to ring ; their last tones had died away 
 along with the last streak of red on the skies 
 above. 
 
 " Thou art mine !" resounded in the depths 
 below. " Thou art mine !" resounded from be- 
 yond the heights — from infinity ! 
 
 Happy to pass from love to love, from earth 
 to heaven ! 
 
LITTLE EUDT. Ill 
 
 A string seemed to have broken — a tone of 
 sorrow was echoed around. The ice-kiss of 
 death had triumphed over the corruptible ; the 
 prehide to the drama of life had ended before 
 the game itself had begun. All that seemed 
 harsh, or sounded harshly, had subsided intf 
 harmony. 
 
 Do you call this a sad story ? 
 
 Poor Babette! For her it was an hour o^ 
 anguish. The boat drifted further and further 
 away. I^o one on the mainland knew that the 
 betrothed couple had gone over to the little 
 island. The evening advanced, the clouds 
 gathered, darkness came. Alone, despairing, 
 wailing, she stood there. A furious storm came 
 on ; the lightning played over the Jura moun- 
 tains, and over those of Switzerland and Savoy, 
 from all sides flash followed upon flash, while 
 the peals of thunder rolled in all directions for 
 many minutes at a time. One moment the 
 lightning was so vivid that all around became 
 as bright as day — every single vine-stem could 
 be seen as distinctly as at the hour of noon — 
 and in another moment the blackest darkness 
 enveloped all. The lightning darted in zigzags 
 around the lake, and the roar of the thunder 
 was echoed among the surrounding hills. On 
 
112 LITTLE ETTDT. 
 
 land tlie boats were drawn far np the beach, 
 and all that were living had Bought shel- 
 ter. And now the rain poured down in tor- 
 rents. 
 
 " AVhere can Rudy and Babette be in this 
 awful weather ?" said the miller. 
 
 Babette sat with folded hands, with her head 
 in her lap, exhausted by grief, by screaming, by 
 weeping. 
 
 " In the deep water," she sobbed to her- 
 self, " far down yonder, as under a glacier, he 
 lies." 
 
 Slie remembered what Rudy had told her 
 about liis mother's death, and of his being saved 
 himself when taken up apparently dead from 
 the cleft in the glacier. " The Ice-maiden has 
 aim again !" 
 
 And there came a flash of lightning as daz- 
 zling as the sun's rays on the white snow. Ba- 
 bette looked up. The lake rose at that mo- 
 ment like a shining glacier; the Ice-maiden 
 stood there, majestic, pale, glittering, and at her 
 feet lay Rudy's corpse. 
 
 " Mine !" she cried, and again all around was 
 yloom, and darkness, and torrents of rain. 
 
 " Terrible !" groaned Babette. " Why should 
 ne die just when our happy day was so close 
 
LITTLE KUDY. 113 
 
 at Land? Great God, enlighten my under- 
 standing— shed light upon my heart ! I com- 
 prehend not Thy ways, determined by Thine 
 ahnighty power and wisdom." 
 
 And God did shed light on her heart. A 
 retrospective glance — a sense of grace — her 
 dream of the preceding night — all crowded to- 
 gether on her mind. She remembered the 
 words she had spoken — a wish for that which 
 might be best for herself and Rudy. 
 
 " Woe is me ! Was it the germ of sin in my 
 heart ? Was my dream a glimpse into the fu- 
 ture, whose course had to be thus violently 
 arrested to save me from guilt? Unhappy 
 wretch that I am !" 
 
 She sat wailing there in the pitch-dark 
 night. During the deep stillness seemed to ring 
 around her Rudy's words — the last he had ever 
 spoken — " Earth can bestow no more on me !" 
 Their sound was fraught with the fulness of 
 joy; they were echoed amidst the depths of 
 grief. 
 
 Some few years have elapsed since then. 
 
 The lake smiles, its shores smile; the vines 
 10* 
 
114 LITTLE ETjDT. 
 
 bear luscious grapes ; steamboats with waving 
 flags glide swiftly by ; pleasure-boats with theii* 
 two unfurled sails skim like white butterflies 
 over tlie watery mirror; tbe raihvay beyond 
 Cliillon is open, and it goes far into the valley 
 of the Rhone. At every station strangers issue 
 from it — they come with their red-bound guide- 
 books, and study therein what they ought to 
 see. They visit Chillon, observe in the lake 
 the little island with the three acacias, and read 
 in the book about a bridal pair who, in the 
 year 1856, rowed over to it one afternoon — of 
 the bridegroom's death, and that not till the 
 next morning were heard uj^on the shore the 
 bride's despairing cries. 
 
 But the guide-book gives no account of Ba- 
 bette's quiet life at her father's house — not at the 
 mill (strangers now live there), but at a pretty 
 spot whence from her window she can often 
 look beyond the chestnut-trees to the snowy 
 hills over which Budy loved to range ; she can 
 see at the hour of evening the Alpine glow — up 
 where the children of the sun revel, and repeat 
 their song about the wanderer whose cap the 
 whirlwind carried ofl", but it could not take 
 himself. 
 
 There is a rosy tint upon the mountain's 
 
LITTLE KUDT. 
 
 115 
 
 snow — there is a rosy tint in every heart, which 
 admits the thought, " God ordains what is best 
 for US !" But it is not vouchsafed to us all so 
 fully to feel *;liis, as it was to Babette in her 
 'ream. 
 
THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 'HE Butterfly was looking out for a 
 bride, and naturally he wished to se- 
 lect a nice one among the flowers. 
 He looked at them, sitting so quietly 
 and discreetly upon their stems, as a 
 damsel generally sits when she is not 
 engaged ; but there were so many to 
 choose among, that it became quite a difiicult 
 matter. The Butterfly did not relish encoun- 
 tering difficulties, so in his perplexity he flew 
 to the Daisy. She is called in France Mar- 
 guerite. He knew that she could " spae," and 
 that she did so often ; for lovers plucked leaf 
 after leaf from her, and with each a question 
 Yv'as asked respecting the beloved : — "Is it true 
 love?" "From the heart?" " Love that pines ?" 
 " Cold love ?" " None at all ?" — or some such 
 questions. Every one asks in his own language. 
 The Butterfly came too to put his questions ; 
 he did not, however, pluck oif the leaves, but 
 
THE BUTTERFLY. 117 
 
 kissed them all one by one, witli tlie hope of 
 getting a good answer. 
 
 " Sweet Marguerite Daisy," said he, " you 
 are the wisest wife among all the flowers ; you 
 know how to predict events. Tell me, shall I 
 get this one, or that? or whom shall I get? 
 When I know, I can fly straight to the fair one, 
 and commence wooing her." 
 
 But Marguerite would scarcely answer him ; 
 she was vexed at his calling her " wife," for she 
 was still unmarried, and therefore was not a 
 wife. He asked a second time, and he asked 
 a third time, but he could not get a word out 
 of her ; so he would not take the trouble to ask 
 any more, but flew away, without further ado, 
 on his matrimonial errand. 
 
 It was in the early spring, and there were 
 plenty of Snowdrops and Crocuses. "They 
 are very nice-looking," said the Butterfly : 
 " charming little things, but somewhat too ju- 
 venile." He, like most very young men, pre- 
 ferred elder girls. Thereupon he flew to the 
 Anemones, but they were rather too bashful for 
 him ; the Yiolets were too enthusiastic ; the Tu- 
 lips were too fond of show ; the Jonquils were 
 too plebeian ; the Linden-tree blossoms were too 
 small, and they had too large a family connec- 
 
118 THE BUTTEEFLT. 
 
 tion ; the Apple blossoms were certainly as 
 lovely as Roses to look at, but they stood to- 
 day, and fell off to-morrow, as the wind blew. 
 It would not be worth while to enter into wed- 
 lock for so short a time, he thought. The 
 Sweetpea was the one which pleased him most ; 
 she was pink and white, she was pure and del- 
 icate, and belonged to that class of notable 
 gu-ls who always look well, yet can make them- 
 selves useful in the kitchen. He was on the 
 point of making an offer to lier, when at that 
 moment he observed a peapod hanging close 
 by, with a withered flower at the end of it. 
 " Who is that ?" he asked. " My sister," re- 
 plied the Sweetpea. " Indeed ! then you will 
 probably come to look like her by and by," ex- 
 clpimed the Butterfly as he flew on. 
 
 The Honeysuckles hung over the hedge; 
 they were extremely ladylike, but they had 
 long faces and yellow complexions. They were 
 not to his taste. But who was to his taste ? 
 Ay ! ask him that. 
 
 The spring had passed, the summer had pass- 
 ed, and autumn was passing too. The flowers 
 were still clad in brilliant robes, but, alas ! 
 the fresh fragrance of youth was gone. Fra- 
 grance was a great attraction to him, though 
 
THE BTJTTERFLT. 119 
 
 no longer young himself, and there was none 
 to be found among tlie Dahlias and Holly- 
 hocks. So the Butterfly stooped down to the 
 Wild Thyme. 
 
 " She has scarcely any blossom, but she is 
 altogether a flower herself, and all fragrance — 
 every leaflet is full of it. I will take her." 
 
 So he began to woo forthwith. 
 
 But the Wild Thyme stood stiff and still ; 
 and at length she said, " Friendship, but noth- 
 ing more ! I am old, and you are old. We 
 may very well live for each other, but marry- 
 no ! Let us not make fools of ourselves in our 
 old age !" 
 
 So the Butterfly got no one. He had been 
 too long on the lookout, and that one should 
 not be. The Butterfly became an old bachelor, 
 as it is called. 
 
 It was late in the autumn, and there was 
 nothing but drizzling rain and pouring rain ; the 
 wind blew coldly on the old willow-trees till the 
 leaves shivered and the branches cracked. It 
 was not pleasant to fly about in summer cloth- 
 ing : this is the time, it is said, when domestic 
 love is most needed. But the Butterfly flew 
 about no more. He had accidentally gone 
 within-doors, where there was fire in the stove, 
 
120 THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 — yes, real summer heat. He could live, but 
 " to live is not enough," said lie ; " smisliine, 
 freedom, and a little flower, one must have." 
 
 And he flew against the window-pane, was 
 observed, admired, and stuck upon a needle in 
 a case of curiosities. More they could not do 
 for him. 
 
 " ISTow I am sitting on a stem like the flowers," 
 said the Butterfly ; " very pleasant it is not, • 
 liowever. It is almost like being married — one 
 is tied so fast." And he tried to comfort him- 
 self with this reflection. 
 
 " That is poor comfort !" exclaimed the plants 
 in the flower-pots in the room. 
 
 " But one can hardly believe a plant in a 
 flower-pot," thought the Butterfly ; " they are 
 too much among human beings." 
 
PSYCHE. 
 
 T the dawn of day througli the red at- 
 mosphere shines a large star, morning's 
 clearest star ; its ray quivers upon the 
 white wall, as if it would there in- 
 scribe what it had to relate — what in 
 the course of a thousand years it has 
 witnessed here and there on our re- 
 volving earth. 
 
 Listen to one of its histories : 
 Lately (its lately is a century ago to us hu- 
 man beings) my rays watched a young artist ;; 
 it was in the territory of the Pope, in the cap- 
 ital of the world — Home. Much has changed 
 there in the flight of years, but nothing so raj)- 
 idly as the change which takes place in th& 
 human form between childhood and old age.. 
 The imperial city was then, as now, in ruins ; 
 fig-trees and laurels grew among the fallen 
 marble pillars, and over the shattered bath- 
 chambers, with then' gold-enamelled walls ; the 
 11 
 
122 PSYCHE. 
 
 Coliseum was a ruin ; tlie bells of the cliurches 
 rang, incense perfumed tlie air; processions 
 moved with lights and splendid canopies through 
 the streets. The Holy Church ruled all, and 
 art was patronized by it. At Kome lived the 
 world's greatest painter, Raphael ; there also 
 lived the first sculptor of his age, Michael An- 
 gelo. The Pope himself paid homage to these 
 two artists, and honored them by his visits. 
 Art was appreciated, admired, and recompensed. 
 But even then not all that was great and worthy 
 of praise was known and brought forward. 
 
 In a narrow little street stood an old house ; 
 it had formerly been a temple, and there dwelt 
 a young artist. He was poor and unknown ; 
 however, he had a few young friends, artists 
 like himself, young in mind, in hopes, in 
 thoughts. They told him that he was rich in 
 talent, but that he was a fool, since he never 
 would believe in his own pov/ers. He always 
 destroyed what he had formed in clay ; he was 
 never satisfied with any thing he did, and never 
 had any thing finished so as to have it seen and 
 known, and it was necessary to have this to 
 make money. 
 
 " You are a dreamer," they said, " and therein 
 lies yom' misfortune. But this aiises from your 
 
PSYCHE. 123 
 
 never having lived yet, not having tasted life, 
 enjoyed it in large exhilerating draughts, as it 
 ought to be enjoyed. It is only in youth that 
 one can do this. ' Look at the great master, 
 Raphael, whom the Pope honors and the world 
 admires: he does not abstain from wine and 
 good fare." 
 
 " He dines with the baker's wife, the charm- 
 ing Fornarina," said Angelo, one of the liveli- 
 est of the young group. 
 
 They all talked a great deal, after the fashion 
 of gay young men. They insisted on carrying 
 the youthful artist off with them to scenes of 
 amusement and riot— scenes of folly they might 
 have been called — and for a moment he felt in- 
 clined to accompany them. His blood was 
 warm, his fancy powerful; he could join in 
 their jovial chat, and laugh as loud as any of 
 them ; yet what they called " Raphael's pleas- 
 ant life" vanished from his mind like a morning 
 mist : he thought only of the inspiration that 
 was apparent in the great master's works. If he 
 stood in the Yatican, near the beautiful forms 
 the masters of a thousand years before had cre- 
 ated out of marble blocks, then his breast 
 heaved; he felt within himself something so 
 elevated, so holy, so grand and good, that he 
 
124 PSYCHE. 
 
 longed to chisel such statues fi"om the marble 
 blocks. He wished to give a form to the glori- 
 ous conceptions of his mind; but how, and 
 what form ? The soft clay that was moulded 
 into beautiful figures bj his fingers one day, 
 was the next day, as usual, broken up. 
 
 Once, as he was passing one of the rich pala- 
 ces, of which there are so many at Rome, he 
 stepped within the large open entrance court, 
 and saw arched corridors adorned with statues, 
 inclosing a little garden full of the most beau- 
 tiful roses. Great white flowers, with green 
 juicy leaves, shot up the marble basin, where 
 the clear waters splashed, and near it glided a 
 figure, that of a young girl, the daughter of the 
 princely house — so delicate, so light, so lovely ! 
 He had never beheld so beautiful a woman. 
 Yes — painted by Raphael, painted as Psyche, 
 in one of the palaces of Rome ! Yes — there 
 she stood as if living ! 
 
 She also lived in his thoughts and heart. 
 And he hurried home to his humble apartment, 
 and formed a Psyche in clay ; it was the rich, 
 the high-born young Roman lady, and for the 
 fii'st time he looked with satisfaction on his 
 work. It was life itself — it was herself. And 
 his friends, when they saw it, were loud in their 
 
PSYCHE. 125 
 
 congratulations. This work was a proof of his 
 excellence in art : that they had themselves al- 
 ready known, and the world should now know 
 it also. 
 
 Clay may look fleshy and lifelike, but it has 
 not the whiteness of marble, and does not last 
 so long. His Psyche must be sculptured in 
 marble, and the expensive block of marble 
 required he already possessed : it had lain for 
 many years, a legacy from his parents, in the 
 court-yard. Broken bottles, decayed vegeta- 
 bles, and all manner of refuse, had been heaped 
 on it and soiled it, but within it was white as 
 the moim.tain snow. Psyche was to be chis- 
 elled from it. ~ 
 
 One day it happened (the clear star tells 
 nothing of this, for it did not see what passed, 
 but we know it), a distinguished Poman party 
 came to the narrow humble street. The car- 
 riage stopped near it. The party had come to 
 see the young artist's work, of which they had 
 heard by accident. And who were these aris- 
 tocratic visitors ? Unfortunate young man ! 
 All too happy young man, he might also well 
 have been called. The young girl herself stood 
 there in his studio ; and with what a smile when 
 her father exclaimed, " But it is you, you you^- 
 11* 
 
126 PSYCHE. 
 
 self to the life !" That smile could not be cop- 
 ied, that glance could not be imitated — that 
 speaking glance which she cast on the young 
 artist! It was a glance that fascinated, en- 
 chanted, and destroyed. 
 
 " The Psyche must be finished in marble," 
 said the rich nobleman. And that was a life- 
 giving word to the inanimate clay and to the 
 heavy marble block, as it was a life-giving word 
 to the young man. 
 
 " "When the work is finished, I will pm'chase 
 it," said the noble visitor. 
 
 It seemed as if a new era had dawned on the 
 humble studio ; joy and sprightliness enlivened 
 it now, and ennui fled before constant employ- 
 ment. The bright morning star saw how 
 quickly the work advanced. The clay itself 
 became as if animated with a soul, for even in 
 it stood forth, in perfect beauty, each now well- 
 known feature. 
 
 " Kow I know what life is," exclaimed the 
 young artist joyfully; "it is love. There is 
 _glory in the excellent, rapture in the beautiful. 
 What my friends call life and enjoyment are 
 ■corrupt and perishable — they are bubbles in 
 the fermenting dregs, not the pm'e heavenly 
 ■altar-wine that consecrates life. 
 
^w» PSYCHE. 12 Y 
 
 The block of marble was raised, the chisel 
 hewed large pieces from it ; it was measured, 
 pointed, and marked. The work proceeded; 
 little by little, the stone assumed a form, a 
 form of beauty — Psyche — charming as God's 
 creation in the young female. The heavy mar- 
 ble became life-like, dancing, airy, and a grace- 
 ful Psyche, with the bright smile so heavenly 
 and innocent, such as had mirrored itself in the 
 young sculptor's heart. 
 
 The star of the rose-tinted morn saw it, and 
 well understood what was stirring in the young 
 man's heart— understood the changing color on 
 his cheek, the fire in his eye — as he carved the 
 likeness of what God had created. 
 
 " Tou are a master, such as those in the time 
 of the Greeks," said his delighted friends. 
 " The whole world will soon admire your 
 Psyche." 
 
 " My Psyche ! he exclaimed. " Mine ! Yes, 
 such she must be. I too am an artist like those 
 great ones of by-gone days. God has bestowed 
 on me the gift of genius, which raises its pos- 
 sessor to a level with the high-born." 
 
 And he sank on his knees, and wept his 
 thanks to God, and then forgot Him for her — 
 fV>r her image in marble. The figure of Psyche 
 
128 PSYCHE. 
 
 stood there, as if formed of snow, blusMng rosy 
 red on the morning sun. 
 
 In reality lie was to see her, Kving, moving, 
 her whose voice had sounded like the sweetest 
 music. He was to go to the splendid palace, 
 to announce that the marble Psyche was fin- 
 ished. He went thither, passed through the 
 open court to where the water poured, splash- 
 ing from dolphins, into the marble basin, around 
 which the white flowers clustered, and the roses 
 shed their fragrance. He entered the large 
 lofty hall, whose walls and roof were adorned 
 with armorial bearings and heraldic designs. 
 "Well-dressed, pompous-looking servants strut- 
 ted up and down, like sleigh-horses with their 
 jingling bells ; others of them, insolent-looking 
 fellows, were stretched at their ease on hand- 
 somely carved wooden benches; they seemed 
 the masters of the house. He told his errand, 
 and was then conducted up the white marble 
 stairs, which were covered with soft carpets. 
 Statues were arranged on both sides ; he passed 
 through handsome rooms with pictures and 
 bright mosaic floors. For a moment he felt 
 oppressed by all this magnificence and splendor 
 — it nearly took away his breath. But he 
 speedily recovered himself; for the princely 
 
The Repulse. 
 
^^ PSYCHE. 129 
 
 owner of the mansion received him kindly, al 
 most cordially, and, after tliey had finished 
 their conversation, requested him, when bid- 
 ding him adieu, to go to the apartments of 
 the young Signora, who wished also to see 
 him. Servants marshalled him through su- 
 perb saloons and suites of rooms to the chamber 
 where she sat, elegantly dressed and radiant in 
 beauty. 
 
 She spoke to him. Ko Miserere, no tones of 
 sacred music, could more have melted the 
 heart and elevated the soul. He seized her 
 hand, and carried it to his lips ; never was rose 
 so soft. But there issued a fire from that rose 
 — a fire that penetrated through him and tm-ned 
 his head; words poured forth from his lips, 
 which he scarcely knew himself, like the crater 
 pouring forth glowing lava. He told her of 
 his love. She stood amazed, offended, insulted, 
 with a haughty and scornful look, an expres- 
 sion which had been called forth instantane- 
 ously by his passionate avowal of his sentiments 
 towards her. Her cheeks glowed, her lips be- 
 came quite pale ; her eyes flashed fire, and were 
 yet dark as ebon night. 
 
 "Madman!" she exclaimed ; "begone! away!" 
 And she turned angrily from him, while her 
 
130 PSYCHE. 
 
 beautiful countenance assumed the look of that 
 petrified face of old with the serpents cluster- 
 ing around it like hair. 
 
 Like a sinking lifeless thing, he descended 
 into the street ; like a sleep-walker he reached 
 his home. But there he awoke to pain and 
 fury ; he seized his hammer, lifted it high in 
 the air, and was on the point of breaking the 
 beautiful marble statue, but in his distracted 
 state of mind he had not observed that Angelo 
 was standing near him. The latter caught his 
 arm, exclaiming, " Have you gone mad ? What 
 would you do ?" 
 
 They struggled with each other. Angelo 
 was the stronger of the two, and, drawing a 
 deep breath, the young sculptor threw himself 
 on a chair. 
 
 " What has happened ?" asked Angelo. " Be 
 yourself, and speak." 
 
 But what could he tell ? what could he say ? 
 And when Angelo found that he could get 
 nothing out of him, he gave up questioning him. 
 
 " Your blood thickens in this constant dream- 
 ing. Be a man like the rest of us, and do not 
 live only in the ideal : you will go deranged at 
 this rate. Take wine until you feel it get a 
 little into your head ; that will make you sleep 
 
PSYCHE. 131 
 
 well. Let a pretty girl be your doctor ; a girl 
 from the Campagna is as charming as a prin- 
 cess in her marble palace. Both are the daugh 
 ters of Eve, and are not to be distinguished from 
 each other in Paradise. Follow your Angelo ! 
 Let me be your angel, the angel of life for you ! 
 The time will come when you will be old, and 
 your limbs will be useless to you. Why, on a 
 fine sunny day, when every thing is laughing 
 and joyous, do you look like a withered straw 
 that can grow no more ? I no not believe what 
 the priests say, that there is a life beyond the 
 grave. It is a pretty fancy, a tale for chil- 
 dren — pleasant enough, if one could put faith 
 in it. I, however, do not live in fancies only, 
 but in the world of realities. Come with me ! 
 Be a man !" 
 
 And he drew him out with him ; it was easy 
 to do so at that moment. There was a heat in 
 the young artist's blood, a change in his feel- 
 ings ; he longed to throw off all his old habits, 
 all that he was accustomed to — to throw off his 
 own former self — and he consented to accom- 
 pany Angelo. 
 
 On the outskirts of Rome was a hostelry 
 much frequented by artists. It was built amidst 
 the ruins of an old bath-chamber; the large 
 
132 PSYCHE. 
 
 yellow lemons himg among their dark bright 
 leaves, and adorned the greatest part of the old 
 reddish-gilt walls. The hostelry was a deep 
 vault, almost like a hole in the ruin. A lamp 
 burned within it, before a picture of the Ma- 
 donna; a large fire was blazing in the stove 
 (roasting, boiling, and frying, were going on 
 there) ;" on the outside, under lemon and lau- 
 rel trees, stood two tables spread for refresh- 
 ments. 
 
 Kindly and joyously were the two artists 
 welcomed by their friends. None of them ate 
 much, but they all drank a great deal ; that 
 caused hilarity. There was singing and play- 
 ing the guitar; Saltarello sounded, and the 
 merry dance began, A couple of young Ro- 
 man girls, models for the artists, joined in the 
 dance, and took part in their mirth — two charm- 
 ing Bacchantes ! They had not, indeed, the 
 delicacy of Psyche — they were not graceful 
 lovely roses — but they were fresh, hardy, ruddy 
 carnations. 
 
 How warm it was that day ! Warm even 
 after the sun had gone down — heat in the blood, 
 heat in the air, heat in every look ! The at- 
 mosphere seemed to be composed of gold and 
 roses — ^life itself was gold and roses. 
 
^=»^ PSYCHE. 133 
 
 " Now at last yon are witli ns ! Let your- 
 self be borne on the stream around yon and 
 within you." 
 
 " I never before felt so well and so joyous," 
 cried the young sculptor. " You are right, 
 you are all right ; I was a fool, a visionary. 
 Men should seek for realities, and not wrap 
 themselves up in phantasies." 
 
 Amidst songs and the tinkling of guitars, the 
 young men sallied forth from the hostelry, and 
 took their way, in the clear starlit evening, 
 through the small streets ; the two ruddy car- 
 nations, daughters of the Campagna, accompa- 
 nied them. In Angelo's room, amidst sketclies 
 and folios scattered about, and glowing volup- 
 tuous paintings, their voices sounded more sub- 
 dued, but not less full of passion. On the floor 
 lay many a drawing of the Campagna's daugh- 
 ters in various attractive attitudes ; they were 
 full of beauty, yet the originals were still more 
 beautiful. The six-branched chandeliers were 
 burning, and the light glared on the scene of 
 sensual joy. 
 
 "Apollo! Jupiter! Into your heaven and 
 happiness am I wafted. It seems as if the 
 flower of life has in this moment sprung up in 
 my heart." 13 
 
134 PSYCHE. 
 
 Yes, it sprung up, but it broke and fell, and 
 a deadening hideous sensation seized upon him. 
 It dimmed his sight, stupefied his mind ; per- 
 ception failed, and all became dark around 
 him. 
 
 lie gained his home, sat down on his bed 
 and tried to collect his thoughts. " Fie !" was 
 the exclamation uttered by his own mouth from 
 the bottom of his heart. " Wretch ! begone ! 
 away !" And he breathed a sigh full of the 
 deepest grief. 
 
 " Begone ! away !" These words of hers — 
 the living Psyche's words — were re-echoed in 
 his breast, re-echoed from his lips. He laid his 
 head on his pillow : his thoughts became con- 
 fused, and he slept. 
 
 At the dawn of day he arose, and sat down 
 to reflect. What had happened? Had he 
 dreamt it all — dreamt her words — dreamt his 
 visit to the hostelry, and the evening with the 
 flaunting carnations of the Campagna ? No, all 
 was reality — a reality such as he had never be- 
 fore experienced. 
 
 Through the purplish haze of the early morn- 
 ing shone the clear star ; its rays fell upon him 
 and upon the marble Psyche. He trembled as 
 he gazed on the imperishable image ; he felt that 
 
^*^ PSTCHE, 135 
 
 there was impurity in his look, and he threw a 
 covering over it. Once only he removed the 
 veil to touch the statue, but he could not bear 
 to see his own work. 
 
 Quiet, gloomy, absorbed in his own thoughts, 
 he sat the livelong day. lie noticed nothing, 
 knew nothing of what was going on about him, 
 and no one knew what was going on within his 
 heart. 
 
 Days, weeks passed; the nights were the 
 longest. The glittering star saw him one morn- 
 ing, pale, shaking with fever, arise from his 
 couch, go to the marble figure, lift the veil from 
 it, gaze for a moment witli an expression of 
 deep devotion and sorrow on his work, and then, 
 almost sinking under its weight, he dragged 
 the statue out into the garden. In it there 
 was a dried-up, dilapidated, disused well, which 
 coidd only be called a deep hole ; he sank his 
 Psyche in it, threw in earth over it, and cov- 
 ered the new-made grave with brushwood and 
 nettles. 
 
 " Begone ! away !" was the short funeral ser- 
 vice. 
 
 The star witnessed this through the rose- 
 tinted atmosphere, and its ray quivered on two 
 large tears upon the corpse-like cheeks of the 
 
136 PSYCHE. 
 
 young fever-stricken man — deatli-stricken they 
 called him on his sick-bed. 
 
 The monk Ignatius came to see him as a 
 friend and physician — came with religion's com- 
 forting words, and spoke to him of the Church's 
 happiness and peace, of the sins of mankind, 
 the grace and mercy of God. 
 
 And his words fell like warm sunbeams on 
 the damp spongy ground; it steamed, and the 
 misty vapors ascended from it, so that the 
 thoughts and mental images which had received 
 their shapes from realities were cleared, and he 
 was enabled to take a more just view of man's 
 life. The delusions of guilt abounded in it, and 
 such there had been for him. Art was a sorcer- 
 ess that lured us to vanity and earthly lusts. 
 We are false towards ourselves, false towards 
 our friends, false towards our God. The ser- 
 pent always repeats within us, " Eat thereof ^ 
 then your eyes shall he oj>ened, and ye shall he 
 as gods .^" 
 
 He seemed now for the first time to under- 
 stand himself, and to have found the way to 
 truth and rest. On the Church shone light 
 from on high ; in the monk's cell dwelt that 
 peace amidst which the human tree might grow 
 to flourish in eternity. 
 
/ 
 
 PSYCHE. 137 
 
 Brotlier Ignatius eucoui'aged these senti- 
 ments, and the artist's resolution was taken. 
 A chUd of the world became a servant of 
 the Church: the young sculptor bade adieu 
 to all his former pursuits, and went into a mon- 
 astery. 
 
 How kindly, how gladly, was he received by 
 the Brothers! What a Sunday fete was his 
 initiation ! The Almighty, it seemed to him, 
 was in the sunshine that illumined the church. 
 His glory beamed from the holy images and 
 from the white cross. And when he now, at 
 the hour of the setting sun, stood in his little 
 cell, and, opening the window, looked out over 
 the ancient Home, the ruined temples, the mag- 
 nificent but dead Coliseum — when he saw all 
 this in the spring-time, when the acacias were 
 in bloom, the evergreens were fresh, roses burst- 
 ing from their buds, citrons and orange-trees 
 shining, palms waving — ^lie felt himself tran- 
 quilized and cheered as he had never been be- 
 fore. The quiet open Campagna extended to- 
 wards the misty snow-decked hills, which seemed 
 painted in the air. All, blended together, 
 breathed of peace, of beauty, so soothingly, so 
 dreamily — a dream the whole. 
 
 Yes, the world was a dream here. A dream 
 12=^ 
 
138 PSYCHE. 
 
 may continue for an liour, and come again at 
 another hour ; but life in a cloister is a life of 
 years, long and many. 
 
 He migiit have attested the truth of this say- 
 ing, that from within comes much which taints 
 mankind. What was that fire which some- 
 times blazed throughout him ? What was that 
 source from which evil, against his will, was al- 
 ways welling forth ? He scourged his body, but 
 from within came the evil yet again. What 
 was that spirit within him, which with the pli- 
 ancy of a serpent coiled itself up, and crept into 
 his conscience under the cloak of universal love, 
 and comforted him ? The saints pray for us, 
 the holy mother prays for us, Jesus Himself has 
 shed his blood for us. Was it weakness of mind 
 or the volatile feelings of youth that caused him 
 sometimes to think himself received into grace, 
 and made him fancy himself exalted by that — 
 exalted over so many? For had he not cast 
 from him the vanities of the world ? Was ho 
 not a son of the Church ? 
 
 One day, after the lapse of many years, he 
 met Angelo, who recognized him. 
 
 " Man !" exclaimed Angelo. " Yes, sure- 
 ly it is yourself. Are you happy now? 
 You have sinned against God, for you have 
 
PSYCHE. 139 
 
 thrown away His gracious gift, and aban- 
 doned your mission into this world. Read 
 the parable of the confided talent. The Mas- 
 ter who related it spoke the truth. What 
 have yon won or found ? Have you not allot- 
 ted to yourself a life of dreams? Is your 
 religion not a mere coinage of the brain? 
 What if all be but a dream — pretty yet fan- 
 tastic thoughts !" 
 
 " Away from me, Satan !" cried the monk, as 
 he fled from Angelo. 
 
 " There is a devil, a personified devil ! I saw 
 him to-day," groaned the monk. " I only held 
 out a finger to him, and he seized my whole 
 hand ! Ah, no !" he sighed. " In myself there 
 is sin, and in that man there is sin ; but he is 
 not crushed by it — he goes with brow erect, 
 and lives in happiness. I seek my happiness 
 in the consolations of religion. If only they 
 were consolations — if all here, as in the world 
 I left, were but pleasing thoughts ! They are 
 delusions, like the crimson skies of evening, like 
 the beautiful sea-blue tint on the distant hills. 
 Close by, these look very diiferent. Eternity, 
 thou art like the wide, interminable, calm-look- 
 ing ocean: it beckons, calls us, fills us with 
 forebodings, and if we venture on it we sink, 
 
140 PSYCHE. 
 
 we disappear, die, cease to exist ! Delusions ! 
 Begone ! away !" 
 
 And tearless, lost in his own thoughts, he sat 
 upon his hard pallet ; then he knelt. Befoi-e 
 whom ? The stone cross that stood on the wall ? 
 No, habit alone made him kneel there. 
 
 And the deeper he looked into himself, the 
 darker became his thoughts. " Nothing within, 
 nothing without — a lifetime wasted !" And 
 that cold snowball of thought rolled on, grew 
 larger, crushed him, destroyed him. 
 
 " To none dare I speak of the gnawing worm 
 within me : my secret is my prisoner. If I 
 could get rid of it, I would be Thine, O God !" 
 
 And a spirit of piety awoke and struggled 
 within him. 
 
 " Lord ! Lord !" he exclaimed in his despair. 
 " Be merciful, grant me faith ! I despised and 
 abandoned Thy gracious gift — my mission into 
 this world. I was wantmg in strength ; Thou 
 hadst not bestowed that on me. Immortal 
 fame — Psyche — still lingers in my heart. Be- 
 gone ! away ! They shall be buried like yon- 
 der Psyche, the brightest gem of my life. That 
 shall never ascend from its dark grave." 
 
 The star in the rose-tinted mom shone bright- 
 ly — the star that assuredly shall be extinguished 
 
PSYCHE. 141 
 
 and anniliilated, while the spirits of mankind 
 live amidst celestial light. Its trembling rays 
 fell upon the white wall, but it inscribed no 
 memorial there of the blessed trust in God, of 
 the grace, of the holy love, that dwell in the 
 believer's heart. 
 
 "Psyche within me can never die — it will 
 live in consciousness ! Can what is inconceiv- 
 able be ? Yes, yes ! For I myself am incon- 
 ceivable. Thou art inconceivable, O Lord ! 
 The whole of Thy universe is inconceivable — a 
 work of power, of excellence, of love !" 
 
 His eyes beamed with the brightest radiance 
 for a moment, and then became dim and corpse- 
 like. The church-bells rang their funeral peal 
 over him — the dead; and he was buried in 
 earth brought from Jerusalem, and mingled 
 with the ashes of departed saints. 
 
 Some years afterwards the skeleton was taken 
 up, as had been the skeletons of the dead monks 
 before him ; it was attired in the brown cowl, 
 with a rosary in its hand, and it was placed in 
 a niche among the human bones which were 
 found in the burying-ground of the monastery. 
 And the sun shone outside, and incense per- 
 fumed the air within, and masses were said. 
 
 Years again went by. 
 
142 psrcHE. 
 
 The bones of tlie skeletons had fallen from 
 each other, and become mixed together. The 
 skulls were gathered and set up — tliej formed 
 quite an outer wall to the church. There stood 
 also his skull in the burning sunshine : there 
 were so many, many death's heads, that no 
 one knew now the names they had borne, nor 
 his. And see! in the sunshine there moved 
 something living within the two eye-sockets. 
 "What could that be ? A motley-colored lizard 
 had sprung into the interior of the skull, and 
 was passing out and in through the large empty 
 sockets of the eye. There was life now within 
 that head, where once grand ideas, bright 
 dreams, love of art, and excellence had dwelt 
 — from whence hot tears had rolled, and where 
 had lived the hope of immortality. The lizard 
 sprang forth and vanished ; the skull mouldered 
 away, and became dust in dust. 
 
 It was a centmy from that time. The clear 
 star shone unchanged, as brightly and beauti- 
 fully as a thousand years before ; the dawn of 
 day was as red, and fresh, and blushing as a 
 rosebud. 
 
 Where once had been a narrow street, with 
 the ruins of an ancient temple, stood now a 
 convent. A grave was to be dug in the garden. 
 
PSYCHE. 143 
 
 for a young nun had died, and at an early hour 
 in the morning she was to be buried. In dig- 
 ging the grave, the spade knocked against a 
 stone. Dazzling white it appeared — the pure 
 marble became visible. A round shoulder first 
 presented itself: the spade was used more cau- 
 tiously, and a female head was soon discovered, 
 and then the wings of a butterfly. From the 
 grave in which the young nun was to be laid, 
 they raised, in the red morning light, a beauti- 
 ful statue — Psyche carved in the finest marble. 
 " How charming it is ! how perfect ! — an ex- 
 quisite work, from the most glorious period of 
 art !" it was said. Who could have been the 
 sculptor ? No one knew that — none knew him 
 except the clear star that had shone for a thou- 
 sand years ; it knew his earthly career, his tri- 
 als, his weakness. But he was dead, returned 
 to the dust. Yet the result of his greatest ef- 
 fort, the most admirable, which proved his vast 
 genius — Psyche — that never can die ; that might 
 outlive fame. That was seen, appreciated, ad- 
 «iired, and loved. 
 
 The clear star in the rosy-streaked morn sent 
 its glittering ray upon Psyche, and upon the 
 delighted countenances of the admiring behold- 
 ers, who saw a soul created in the marble block. 
 
lU 
 
 PSYCHE. 
 
 All that is earthly returns to earth, and is 
 orgotten ; only the star in the infinite vault of 
 leaven bears it in remembrance. What is 
 heavenly obtains renown from its own excel- 
 lence ; and when even renown shall fade, Psyche 
 shall still live. 
 
THE 
 
 SNAIL AND THE ROSEBUSH. 
 
 ROUND a garden was a fence of haze] 
 
 bushes, and beyond that were fields 
 
 and meadows, with cows and sheep ; 
 
 \p^ but in the centre of the garden stood 
 
 a Rosebush in full bloom. Under it 
 
 lay a Snail, who had a great deal in 
 
 him, according to himself. " Wait till 
 
 my time comes," said he ; "I shall do a great 
 
 deal more than to yield roses, or to bear nuts, 
 
 or to give milk as the cows do." 
 
 " I expect an immense deal fi'om you," said 
 the Rosebush. " May I venture to ask when 
 it is to come forth ?" 
 
 "I shall take my time," replied the Snail. 
 
 " Tou are always in such a hurry with your 
 
 work, that curiosity about it is never excited." 
 
 The following year the Snail lay, almost in 
 
 the same spot as formerly, in the sunshine im- 
 
 13 
 
146 THE SNAIL AND THE EOSEBUSH. 
 
 der tlie Rosebusti ; it was already in bud, and 
 the buds bad begun to expand into full-blown 
 flowers, always fresh, always new. And the 
 Snail crept half out, stretched forth its feelers, 
 and then drew them in again. 
 
 " Every thing looks just the same as last year ; 
 there is no j^rogress to be seen anywhere. The 
 Rosebush is covered with roses — it will never 
 get beyond that." 
 
 The summer passed, the autumn passed ; the 
 Rosebush had yielded roses and buds up to the 
 time that the snow fell. The weather became 
 wet and tempestuous, the Kosebush bowed to- 
 wards the ground, the Snail crept into the earth. 
 
 A new year commenced, the Rosebush re- 
 vived, and the Snail came forth again. 
 
 " You are now only an old stick of a Rose- 
 bush," said he ; " you must ex]3ect to wither away 
 soon. You have given the world all that was 
 in you. Whether that were worth much or 
 not, is a question I have not time to take into 
 consideration ; but this is certain, that you 
 have not done the least for yom* o^^^l im- 
 provement, else something very different might 
 have been produced by you. Can you deny 
 this ? You will soon become only a bare stick. 
 Do you understand what I say ?" 
 
"^ THE SNAIL AND THE EOSEBUSH. 147 
 
 " Tou alarm me," cried tlie Rosebusli, " I 
 never thought of this." 
 
 " ISTo, you have never troubled yourself with 
 thinking much. But have you not occasionally 
 reflected why you blossomed, and in what way 
 you blossomed — ^how in one way and not in 
 another ?" 
 
 "]^o, answered the Kosebush; " I blossomed 
 in gladness, for I could not do otherwise. The 
 sun was so warm, the air so refreshing ; I drank 
 of the clear dew and the heavy rain ; I breathed 
 — I lived ! There came uj) from the ground a 
 strength in me, there came a strength from 
 above. I experienced a degree of pleasure, al- 
 ways new, always great, and I was obliged to 
 blossom. It was my life ; I could not do oth- 
 erwise." 
 
 " Tou have had a very easy life," remarked 
 the Snail. 
 
 " To be sure, much has been granted to me," 
 said the Eosebush, " but no more will be be- 
 stowed on me now. You have one of those 
 meditative, deeply thinking minds, one so en- 
 dowed that you will astonish the world." 
 
 " 1 have by no means any such design," said 
 the Snail. " The world is nothing to me. 
 "What have I to do with the world ? I have 
 
148 THE SNAIL AND THE EOSEBUSH. 
 
 enough to do with myself, and enougli in 
 myself." 
 
 " But should we not in this earth all give our 
 best assistance to others — contribute what we 
 can ? Yes ! I have only been able to give 
 roses ; but you — you who have got so much — 
 what have you given to the world ? What will 
 you give it ?" 
 
 " "What have I given ? What will I give ? I 
 spit upon it ! It is good for nothing, I have 
 no interest in it. Produce yom* roses — you 
 cannot do more than that — let the hazel bushes 
 bear nuts, let the cows give milk ! You have 
 each of you your public ; I have mine within 
 myself. I am going into it myself, and shall 
 remain there. The world is nothing to me." 
 
 And so the Snail withdrew into his house, 
 and closed it up. 
 
 " What a sad pity it is !" exclaimed the Eose- 
 bush. " I cannot creep into shelter, however 
 much I might wish it. I must always spring 
 out, spring out into roses. The leaves fall off, 
 and they fly away on the wind. But I saw one 
 of the roses laid in a psalm-book belonging 
 to the mistress of the house ; another of my 
 roses was placed on the breast of a young and 
 beautiful girl; and another was kissed by a 
 
THE SNAIL AIsTD THE EOSEBUSH. 149 
 
 cliild's soft lips in an ecstasy of joy. I was so 
 charmed at all this: it was a real happiness 
 to Yae — one of the pleasant remembrances of 
 my life." 
 
 And the Rosebush bloomed on in innocence, 
 while the Snail retii-ed into his slimy house — 
 the world was nothing to him ! 
 
 Years flew on. 
 
 The Snail had returned to earth, the Eose- 
 bush had returned to earth, also the dried rose- 
 leaf in the psalm-book had disappeared, but 
 new rosebushes bloomed in the garden, and 
 new snails were there; they crept into their 
 houses, spitting — the world was nothing to 
 them ! 
 
 Shall we read theii' history too ? It would 
 
 not be different. 
 
 13* 
 
TWELVE BY THE MAIL. 
 
 ^^^T was bitterly cold; tlie sky gleamed 
 witbi stars, and not a breeze was stirring. 
 " Bump ! an old pot was thrown 
 at the neighbors' house-doors. 'Bang, 
 bang,' went the gun ; for they were 
 welcoming the l^ew Year. It was ISTew 
 Tear's Eve ! The church clock was striking 
 twelve !" 
 
 " Tan-ta-ra-ra !" the mail came lumbering up. 
 The great carriage stopped at the gate of the 
 town. There were twelve persons in it; all 
 the places were taken. 
 
 " Hurrah ! hurrah !" sang the people in the 
 houses of the town ; for the New Year was be- 
 ing welcomed, and as the clock struck they 
 stood up witb the filled glass in their hand, to 
 drink success to the new-comer. 
 
 "Happy New Year!" was the cry. "A 
 pretty wife ! plenty of money ! and no soitow 
 or cai*e !" 
 
TWELVE BY THE MAIL. 151 
 
 TMs wisli was passed round, and then glasses 
 were clashed together till they rang again, and 
 in front of the town gate the post-carriage stop- 
 ped with the strange guests, the twelve trav- 
 ellers. 
 
 And who were these strangers? Each of 
 them had his passport and his luggage with 
 him ; they even brought presents for me and 
 for you, and for all the people of the little 
 town. Who were they ? What did they want, 
 and what did they bring with them ? 
 
 " Good- morning !" they cried to the sentry 
 at the town gate. "Good-morning!" replied 
 the sentry, for the clock had struck twelve. 
 
 " Your name and profession V the sentry in- 
 quired of the one who alighted first from the 
 carriage. 
 
 ^' See yourself, in the passport," replied the 
 man. "I am myself!" and a capital fellow he 
 looked, arrayed in a bear-skin and fur boots. 
 *' I am the man on whom many persons fix 
 their hopes. Come to me to-morrow ; I'll give 
 you a New- Year's present. I throw pence and 
 dollars among the people. I even give balls, 
 thirty-one balls ; but I cannot devote more 
 than thirty-one nights to this. My sliips ai'e 
 frozen in, but in my office it is warm and com- 
 
152 TWELVE BY THE MAIL. 
 
 fortable. I'm a mercliant. My name is Jan- 
 uary, and I only carry accounts witli me. 
 
 Now the second alighted : he was a merry 
 companion ; he was a theatre director, manager 
 of the masque balls, and all the amusements one 
 can imagine. His luggage consisted of a great 
 tub. 
 
 " We'll dance the cat out of the tub at car- 
 nival time," said he. "I'll prepare a merry 
 tune for you, and for myself too. I have not 
 exactly long to live, — the shortest, in fact, of 
 my whole family ; for I only become twenty- 
 eight days old. Sometimes they pop me in an 
 extra day, but I trouble myself very little about 
 that — ^hurrah !" 
 
 " You must not shout so !" said the sentry. 
 
 " Certainly, I may shout !" retorted the man. 
 " I'm Prince Carnival, travelling under the 
 name of Febkuaey !" 
 
 The third now got out ; he looked like Fast- 
 ing itself, but carried his nose very high, for he 
 was related to the " Forty Knights," and was 
 a weather prophet. But that's not a profitable 
 ofiice, and that's why he praised fasting. In 
 his button-hole he had a little bunch of violets, 
 but they were very small. 
 
 "Makch! Maech!" the fourth called after 
 
TWELVE BY THE MAIL. 153 
 
 him, and slapped him on the shoulder: "Do 
 you smell nothing ? Go quickly into the guard 
 room ; there they're drinking punch, your fa- 
 vorite drink ; I can smell it already out here. 
 Forward, Master Maech ! But it was not true ; 
 the speaker only wanted to let him feel the influ- 
 ence of his own name, and make an Apeil fool 
 of him; for with that the fourth began his 
 career in the town. He looked very jovial, did 
 little work, but had the more holidays. " If it 
 were only a little more steady in the world !" 
 said he ; but sometimes one is in a good humor, 
 sometimes in a bad one, according to circum- 
 stances ; now rain, now sunshine. I am a kind 
 of house and ofiice letting agent ; also a mana- 
 ger of funerals ; I can laugh or cry, according 
 to circumstances. Here in this box I have my 
 summer wardrobe, but it would be very foolish 
 to put it on. Here I am now ! On Sundays 
 I go out walking in shoes and white silk stock- 
 ings, and with a muff!" 
 
 After him a lady came out of the carriage. 
 She called herself Miss May. She wore a sum 
 mer costume and overshoes, a light-green dress 
 and anemones in her hair, and she was so 
 scented with wild thyme that the sentry had to 
 sneeze. " God bless you !" she said, and that 
 
154 TWELVE BY THE MAIL. 
 
 was her salutation. How prettj she was ! and 
 she was a singer : not a theatre singer nor a bal- 
 lad singer — no, a singer of the woods ; for she 
 warmed through the gay green forest and sang 
 there for her own amusement. 
 
 " Kow comes the young dame !" said those 
 in the can-iage, and the young dame stepped 
 out, delicate, proud, and pretty. It was easy 
 to see that she was Mistress June, accustomed 
 to be served by drowsy marmots. She gave a 
 great feast on the longest day of the year, that 
 the guests might have time to partake of the 
 many dishes at her table. She, indeed, kept 
 her own carriage ; but still she travelled in the 
 mail with the rest, because slie wanted to show 
 that she was not high-minded. But she was 
 not without protection ; her younger brother, 
 July, was with her. 
 
 He was a plump young fellow, clad in sum- 
 mer garments, and with a panama hat. He 
 had but little baggage with him, because it was 
 cumbersome in the great heat; therefore he 
 had only provided himself with swimming 
 trowsers, and those are not much. 
 
 Then came the mother herself. Madam Au- 
 gust, wholesale dealer in fruit, proprietress of a 
 large number of fishponds, and land cultivator 
 
^=-^ TWELVE BY THE MAIL. 165 
 
 in a great crinoline ; slie was fat and hot, could 
 use her hands well, and would herself carry 
 out beer to the workmen in the fields. " In the 
 sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread," said 
 she ; that is written in the Book. Afterwards 
 come the excursions, dance, and playing in the 
 green wood, and the harvest-feasts ! She was 
 a thorough housewife. 
 
 After her, a man came out of the coach, a 
 painter, Mr. Master-col orer September; the 
 forest had to receive him ; the leaves were to 
 change their colors, but how beautifully, when 
 he wished it. Soon the wood plumed with red, 
 yellow, and brown. The master whistled like 
 the black magpie, was a quick workman, and 
 wound the brown-green hop plants round his 
 beer-jug. That was an ornament for the jug, 
 and he had a good idea for ornament. There 
 lie stood with his color-pot, and that wps his 
 whole luggage ! 
 
 A landed proprietor followed him, one who 
 cared for the ploughing and preparing of the 
 land, and also for field-sports. Squire Octobee 
 brought his dog and his gun with him, and had 
 nuts in his game-bag; "Crack! crack!" He 
 had much baggage, even an English plough : 
 he spoke of fanning; but one could scarcely 
 
156 TWELVE BY THE MAIL. 
 
 hear wliat he said, for the coughmg and gasp- 
 ing of his neighbor. 
 
 It was NovEMBEE who coughed so yiolently, 
 as he got out. He was very much plagued by 
 a cold ; he was continually having recourse to his 
 pocket-handkerchief; and yet, he said, he was 
 obliged to accompany the servant-girls and ini- 
 tiate them into their new winter service. He 
 said he should get rid of his cold when he went 
 out wood-cutting, and had to saw and split 
 wood, for he was a sawyer-master to the fii-e- 
 wood guild. He spent his evenings cutting 
 the wooden soles for skates, for he knew, he 
 said, that in a few weeks there would be occa- 
 sion to use these amusing shoes. 
 
 At length appeared the last passenger, old 
 Mother Decembee, with her iire-stool : the old 
 lady was cold, but her eyes glistened like two 
 bright stars. She carried on her arm a flower- 
 pot, in which a little fir-tree was growing. 
 
 " This tree I will guard and cherish, that it 
 may grow large by Christmas-eve, and may 
 reach from the ground to the ceiling, and may 
 rear itself upward with flaming candles, golden 
 apples, and little carved figures. The fire-stool 
 warms like a stove. - I bring the story-book out 
 of my pocket, and read aloud, so that all the 
 
TWELVE BY THE MAIL. 157 
 
 children m the room become quite quiet, hut 
 the little figures on the trees become lively, and 
 the little waxen angel on the top spreads out 
 his wings of gold-leaf, flies down from the green 
 perch, and kisses great and small in the room ; 
 yes, even the poor children who stand out in 
 the passage and in the street, singing the carol 
 about the Star of Bethlehem. 
 
 "Well, now the coach may drive away!" 
 said the sentry, " we have the whole twelve. 
 Let the chaise drive up." 
 
 " First, let all the twelve come in to me !" said 
 the captain on duty. " One after the other t 
 The passports I will keep here. Each of them 
 is available for a month ; when that has passed, 
 I shall write the behavior on each passport. 
 Mr. January, have the goodness to come here," 
 and Mr. January stepped forward. 
 
 " When a year is passed, I think I shall be 
 able to tell what the twelve have brought me, 
 and to you, and to all of us. Kow I do not 
 know it, and they don't probably know it them 
 selves ; for we live in strange times. 
 14 
 
EOSE 
 FROM THE GRAVE OF HOMER. 
 
 LL the songs of the East tell of the 
 love of the nightingale to the rose ; in 
 the silent starlit nights the winged 
 songster serenades his fragrant flower. 
 Not far from Smyrna, nnder the 
 lofty plantains, where the merchant 
 drives his loaded camels, that proudly 
 lift their long necks and tramp over the holy 
 ground, I saw a hedge of roses. Wild pigeons 
 flew among the branches of the high trees, and 
 their wings glistened, while a sunbeam glided 
 over them, as if they were of mother-of-pearl. 
 
 Tlie rose-hedge bore a flower, which was 
 the most beautiful among all, and the night- 
 ingale sang to her of his woes. But the rose 
 was silent ; not a dew-drop lay, like a tear o± 
 sympathy, upon her leaves, — she bent down 
 over a few great stones. 
 
A EOSE FEOM THE GRAVE OF HOMER. 15& 
 
 " Here rests the greatest singer of the world !" 
 said the rose ; " over his tomb will I pour out 
 my fragrance, and on it I will let fall my leaves 
 when the storm tears them off! He who sang 
 of Troy became earth, and from that earth I 
 have sprung ! I, a rose from the grave of 
 Homer, am too lofty to bloom for a poor night- 
 ingale !" 
 
 And the nightingale sang himself to death. 
 
 The camel-driver came with his loaded cam- 
 els and his black slaves : his little son found 
 the dead bird, and buried the little songster in 
 the grave of the great Homer ; and the rose 
 trembled in the wind. The evening came, and 
 the rose wrapped her leaves more closely to- 
 gether, and di"eamed thus : " It was a fair sun- 
 shiny day : a crowd of strangers drew near, for 
 they had undertaken a pilgrimage to the grave 
 of Homer. Among the strangers was a singer 
 from the north, the home of clouds and of the 
 northern light ; he plucked the rose, placed it 
 in a book, and carried it away into another part 
 of the world, to his distant fatherland. The 
 rose faded with grief, and lay in the narrow 
 book, which he opened in his home, saying, 
 ' Here is a rose from the grave of Homer.' " 
 
 This the flower dreamed; and she awoke 
 
160 A EOSE FROM THE GEAVE OF HOIVIEE. 
 
 and trembled in the wind. A drop of dew fell 
 from the leaves upon the singer's grave. The 
 snn rose, and the rose glowed more beauteous 
 than before : it was a hot daj, and she was in 
 her own warm Asia. Then footsteps were 
 heard, and Frankish strangers came, such as 
 the rose had seen in her dream, and among the 
 strangers was a poet from the north ; he plucked 
 the rose, jDressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth, 
 and carried her away to the home of the clouds 
 and of the northern light. 
 
 Like a mummy the flower corpse now rests 
 in his " Iliad ;" and as in a dream, she hears 
 him open the book and say : " Here is a rose 
 fi-om the grave of Homer." 
 
THE RACERS. 
 
 PRIZE, or rather two prizes, Lad been 
 appointed — a great one and a little 
 one — for the greatest swiftness, not in a 
 single race, but for swiftness tlirough- 
 oat an entire year. 
 
 " I got the first prize !" said the hare ; 
 " there must be justice when relations 
 and good friends are among the prize commit- 
 tee ; but that the snail should have received the 
 second prize, I consider almost an insult to 
 myself." 
 
 " No !" declared the fence-rail, who had been 
 witness at the distribution of prizes, " reference 
 must also be had to industry and perseverance. 
 Many respectable people said so, and I under- 
 stood it well. Tlie snail certainly took half a 
 year to get across the threshold of the door ; 
 but he did himself an injury, and broke his. 
 collar-bone in the haste he was compelled to- 
 make. He devoted himself entirely to his- 
 
1^^ THE EACEES. 
 
 work, and lie ran with his house on his back ! 
 All that is rerj charming ! and that's how he 
 got the second prize !" 
 
 "I might certainly have been considered, 
 too !" said the swallow. " I should think that 
 no one appeared swifter in flying and soaring 
 than myself, and how far I have been around — 
 far — far — far !" 
 
 " Yes, that's just your misfortune," said the 
 fence-rail. "You're too fond of fluttering. 
 You must always be journeying about, into far 
 countries, when it begins to be cold here. 
 You've no love of fatherland in you. You can- 
 not be taken into account." 
 
 " But if I lay in the moor all through the 
 winter," said the swallow— " suppose I slept 
 through the whole time— should I be taken into 
 account then ?" 
 
 " Bring a certificate fi-om the old moor-hen 
 that you have slept away half the time in your 
 fatherland, and you shall be taken into ac- 
 count." 
 
 " I deserved the first prize, and not the sec- 
 ond," said the snail. "I know so much, at 
 least, that the hare only ran from cowardice, 
 because he thought each time there was danger 
 in delay. I, on the other hand, made my run- 
 
THE EACEES. 163 
 
 ning tlie business of mj life, and have become 
 a cripple in the service ! If any one was to 
 have the first prize, I should have had it ; but 
 I don't understand chattering and boasting ; on 
 the contrary, I despise it!" And the snail 
 looked quite haughty. 
 
 " I am able to depose with word and oath 
 that each prize, at least my vote for each, was 
 given after proper consideration," observed the 
 old boundary post in the wood, who had been 
 a member of the college of judges, " I always 
 go on with due consideration, with order, and 
 calculation. Seven times before I have had 
 the honor to be present at the distribution 
 of prizes, and to give my vote ; but not till to- 
 day have I carried out my will. I always went 
 to the first prize from the beginning of the al- 
 phabet, and to the second from the end. Be 
 kind enough to give me your attention, and I 
 will explain to you how one begins at the be- 
 ginning. The eighth letter from A is H, and 
 there we have the hare, and so I awarded him 
 the first prize ; the eighth letter from the end 
 of the alphabet is S, and therefore the snail re- 
 ceived the second prize. Next time I will have 
 its turn for the first prize, and E for the second : 
 there must be due ordier and calculation in 
 8 
 
164 THE EACEES. 
 
 every thing ! One must have a certain start- 
 ing point !" 
 
 " I should certainly have voted for myself, 
 if I had not been among the judges," said the 
 mule, who had been one of the committee. 
 " One must not only consider the rapidity of 
 advance, but every other quality also that is 
 found, — as for example, how much a candidate 
 is able to draw; but I would not have put 
 that prominently forward this time, ror the 
 sagacity of the hare in his flight, or the cun- 
 ning with which he suddenly takes a leap to 
 one side to bring people on a false track, so that 
 they may not know where he has hidden him- 
 self. JSTo ! there is something else on which 
 many lay great stress, and which one may not 
 leave out of the calculation. I mean what is 
 called the beautiful : on the beautiful I partic- 
 ularly fixed my eyes ; I looked at the beautiful 
 well-grown ears of the hare ; it's quite a pleas- 
 ure to see how long they are : it almost seemed 
 to me as if I saw myself in the days of my 
 childhood, and so I voted for the hare." 
 
 "But!" — said the fly, — "I'm not going to 
 talk, I'm only going to say that I have over- 
 taken more than one hare. Quite lately I 
 crushed the hind-legs of one j I was sitting on 
 
THE EAjDEES. 165 
 
 the engine in front of a railway train — I often 
 do that, for thus one can best notice one's own 
 swiftness. A young hare ran for a long time in 
 front of the engine ; he had no idea that I was 
 present — ^but at last he was obliged to give in 
 and spring aside — but then the engine crushed 
 his hind-legs, for I was upon it. The hare lay 
 there, but I rode on. That certainly was con- 
 quering him ! But I don't count the prize !" 
 
 "It certainly appears to me" — thoiight the 
 wild-rose — but she did not say it ; for it is not 
 her nature to give her opinion, though it would 
 have been quite well if she had done so. " It 
 certainly appears to me that the sunbeam ought 
 to have had the first prize, and the second too. 
 The sunbeam flies with intense rapidity along 
 the enormous path from the sun to ourselves, and 
 arrives in such strength that all nature awakes 
 at it ; such beauty does it possess, that all we 
 roses blush, and exhale fragrance in its pres- 
 ence ! Our worshipful judges do not appear to 
 have noticed this at all ! If I were the sunbeam, 
 I would give each of them a sunstroke — but 
 that would only make them mad, and that they 
 may become, as things stand. ^, I say nothing !" 
 thought the wild-rose. "May peace reign in 
 the forest ! It is glorious to blossom, to scent, 
 
166 THE EACEES. 
 
 and to live, — to live in song and legend ! The 
 sunbeam will outlive us all !" 
 
 "What's the first prize?" asked the earth- 
 worm, who had overslept the time, and only 
 came up now. 
 
 " It consists in a free admission to a cabbage- 
 garden !" replied the mule. " I proposed that 
 as the prize. The hare was decidedly to have 
 it, and therefore I, as an active and reflective 
 member, took especial notice of the advantage 
 of him who was to get it ; now the hare is pro- 
 vided for. The snail may sit upon the fence 
 and lick up moss and sunshine, and has further 
 been appointed one of the first umpires in the 
 racing. That's worth a great deal, to have 
 some one of talent in the thing men call a com- 
 mittee. I must say I expect much from the 
 future — we have made a very good begin- 
 ning !" 
 
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