yet he was her happiness, her life's thought, the noblest one! The
more gloomy he looked, the more her eyes laughed and she would have
liked to kiss the blonde Englishman with his golden whiskers, if she
could have succeeded by so doing, in making Rudy rush away furious.
Then, yes then, she would have known how much he loved her. That was
not right, that was not wise in little Babette; but she was only
nineteen! She did not reflect and still less did she think how her
behaviour towards the young Englishman might be interpreted; for it
was lighter and merrier than was seemly for the honourable and newly
affianced daughter of the miller.
The mill lay where the highway slopes--under the snow covered rocky
heights--which are called here, in the language of the country
"Diablerets" close to a rapid mountain stream, which was of a greyish
white, like bubbling soap suds. A smaller stream, rushes forth from
the rocks on the other side of the river, passes through an enclosed,
broad rafter-made-gutter and turns the large wheel of the mill. The
gutter was so full of water, that it streamed over and offered a most
slippery way, to one who had the idea of crossing more quickly to the
mill; a young man had this idea--the Englishman. Guided by the light,
which shone from Babette's window, he arrived in the evening, clothed
in white, like a miller's boy; he had not learnt to climb and nearly
tumbled head over heels into the stream, but escaped with wet sleeves
and splashed pantaloons. He reached Babette's window, muddy and wet
through, there he climbed into the old linden tree and imitated the
screech of an owl, for he could not sing like any other bird. Babette
heard it and peeped through the thin curtains, but when she remarked
the white man and recognized him, her little heart fluttered with
alarm, but also with anger. She hastily extinguished the light,
fastened the windows securely and then she let him howl.
If Rudy was in the mill it would have been dreadful, but Rudy was not
there; no, it was much worse, for he was below. There was loud
conversation, angry words; there might be blows; yes, perhaps murder.
Babette was terrified; she opened the window, called Rudy's name and
begged him to go; she said she would not suffer him to remain.
"You will not suffer me to remain," he exclaimed, "then it is a
preconcerted thing! You were expecting other friends, friends better
than myself; shame on you, Babette!"
"You are detestable," said Babette, "I hate you!" and she wept. "Go!
Go!"
"I have not deserved this!" said he, and departed. His cheeks burned
like fire, his heart burned like fire.
Babette threw herself on her bed and wept.
"So much as I love you, Rudy, how can you believe ill of me!"
She was angry, very angry, and this was good for her; otherwise she
would have sorrowed deeply; but now she could sleep, and she slept the
strengthening sleep of youth.
XII.
THE EVIL POWERS.
Rudy forsook Bex and went on his way home, in the fresh, cool air, up
the snow-covered mountain, where the Ice-Maiden ruled. The leafy trees
which lay beneath him, looked like potato vines; fir-trees and bushes
became less frequent; the alpine roses grew in the snow, which lay in
little spots like linen put out to bleach. There stood a blue anemone,
he crushed it with the barrel of his gun.
Higher up two chamois appeared and Rudy's eyes gained lustre and his
thoughts took a new direction; but he was not near enough to make a
good shot; he ascended still higher, where only stiff grass grows
between the blocks of stone; the chamois were quietly crossing the
snow field; he hurried hastily on; the fog was descending and he
suddenly stood before the steep rocky wall. The rain commenced to
fall.
He felt a burning thirst; heat in his head, cold in all his limbs; he
grasped his hunting flask, but it was empty; he had not thought of
filling it when he rushed up the hill. He had never been ill, but now
he was so; he was weary and had a desire to throw himself down to
sleep, but everything was streaming with water. He endeavoured to
collect his ideas, but all objects danced before his eyes. Suddenly he
perceived a newly built house leaning against the rocks and in the
doorway stood a young girl. Yes, it appeared to him that it was the
schoolmaster's Annette, whom he had once kissed whilst dancing; but it
was not Annette and yet he had seen her before--perhaps in
Grindelwald, on the evening when he returned from the shooting-festival
at Interlaken.
"Where do you come from?" asked he.
"I am at home," said she, "I tend my flock!"
"Your flock, where do they pasture? Here are only cliffs and snow!"
"You have a ready answer," said she and laughed; "below there is a
charming meadow! There are my goats! I take good care of them! I lose
none of them, what is mine, remains mine!"
"You are bold!" said Rudy.
"So are you!" answered she.
"Have you any milk? Do give me some, my thirst is intolerable!"
"I have something better than milk," said she, "and you shall have
it! Travellers came yesterday with their guide, but they forgot a
flask of wine, such as you have never tasted; they will not come for
it, I shall not drink it, so drink you!"
She brought the wine, poured it in a wooden cup and handed it to Rudy.
"That is good," said he, "I have never drunk such a warming, such a
fiery wine!" His eyes beamed, a life, a glow came over him; all sorrow
and oppression seemed to die away; gushing, fresh human nature stirred
itself within him.
"Why this is the schoolmaster's Annette," exclaimed he, "give me a
kiss!"
"Yes, give me the beautiful ring, which you wear on your finger!"
"My engagement ring?"
"Just that one!" said the young girl and pouring wine into the cup,
put it to his lips and he drank. Then the joy of life streamed in his
blood; the whole world seemed to belong to him. "Why torment one's
self? Every thing is made for our enjoyment and happiness! The stream
of life is the stream of joy, and forgetfulness is felicity!" He
looked at the young girl, it was Annette and then again not Annette;
still less, an enchanted phantom, as he had named her, when he met her
near Grindelwald. The girl on the mountain was fresh as the newly
fallen snow, blooming as the alpine rose and light as a kid; and a
human being like Rudy. He wound his arm about her, looked in her
strange clear eyes, yes, only for a second--but was it spiritual life
or was it death which flowed through him? Was he raised on high, or
did he sink into the deep, murderous ice-pit, deeper and ever deeper?
He saw icy walls like bluish green glass, numberless clefts yawned
around, and the water sounded as it dropped, like a chime of bells;
it was pearly, clear and shone in bluish white flames. The Ice-Maiden
gave him a kiss, which made him shiver from head to foot and he gave a
cry of pain. He staggered and fell; it grew dark before his eyes, but
soon all became clear to him again; the evil powers had had their
sport with him.
The alpine maiden had vanished, the mountain hut had vanished, the
water beat against the bare rocky walls and all around him lay snow.
Rudy wet to the skin, trembled from cold and his ring had disappeared,
his engagement ring, which Babette had given him. He tried to fire off
his rifle which lay near him in the snow but it missed. Humid clouds
lay in the clefts like firm masses of snow and Vertigo watched for her
powerless prey; beneath him in the deep chasm it sounded as if a
block of the rock was rolling down and was endeavouring to crush and
tear up all that met it in its fall.
In the mill sat Babette and wept; Rudy had not been there for six
days; he who had been so wrong; he who must beg her forgiveness,
because she loved him with her whole heart.
XIII.
IN THE MILLER'S HOUSE.
"What confusion!" said the parlour-cat to the kitchen-cat.
"Now all is wrong between Rudy and Babette. She sits and weeps and he
thinks no longer on her, I suppose.
"I cannot bear it!" said the kitchen-cat.
"Nor I," said the parlour-cat, "but I shall not worry myself any
longer about it! Babette can take the red-whiskered one for a dear
one, but he has not been here either, since he tried to get on the
roof!"
Within and without, the evil powers ruled, and Rudy knew this, and
reflected upon what had taken place both around and within him, whilst
upon the mountain. Were those faces, or was all a feverish dream? He
had never known fever or sickness before. Whilst he condemned Babette,
he also condemned himself. He thought of the wild, wicked feelings
which had lately possessed him. Could he confess everything to
Babette? Every thought, which in the hour of temptation might have
become a reality? He had lost her ring and by this loss had she won
him back. Could she confess to him? It seemed as if his heart would
break when he thought of her; so many recollections passed through his
soul. He saw her a lively, laughing, petulant child; many a loving
word, which she had said to him in the fullness of her heart, shot
like a sunbeam through his breast and soon all there was sunshine for
Babette.
She must be able to confess to him and she should do so.
He came to the mill, he came to confession; and this commenced with a
kiss, and ended with the fact that Rudy was the sinner; his great
fault was, that he had doubted Babette's fidelity; yes, that was
indeed atrocious in him! Such mistrust, such violence could bring them
both into misfortune! Yes, most surely! Thereupon Babette preached him
a little sermon, which much diverted her and became her charmingly; in
one article Rudy was quite right; the god-mother's relation was a
jackanapes! She should burn the book that he had given her, and not
possess the slightest object which could remind her of him.
"Now it is all arranged," said the parlour-cat, "Rudy is here again,
they understand each other and that is a great happiness!"
"Last night," said the kitchen-cat, "I heard the rats say that the
greatest happiness was to eat tallow candles, and to have abundance of
tainted meat. Now who must one believe, the rats or the lovers?"
"Neither of them," said the parlour-cat, "that is the surest way!"
The greatest happiness for Rudy and Babette was drawing near; they
were awaiting, so they said, their happiest day, their wedding day.
But the wedding was not to be in the church of Bex, nor in the
miller's house; the god-mother wished it to be solemnized near her,
and the marriage ceremony was to take place in the beautiful little
church of Montreux. The miller insisted that her desire should be
fulfilled; he alone knew what the god-mother intended for the young
couple; they were to receive a bridal present from her, which was well
worth so slight a concession. The day was appointed. They were to
leave for Villeneuve, in time to arrive at Montreux early in the
morning, and so enable the god-mother's daughters to dress the bride.
"Then I suppose there will be a wedding here in the house, on the
following day," said the parlour-cat, "otherwise, I would not give a
single mew for the whole thing!"
"There will be a feast here," said the kitchen-cat, "the ducks are
slain, the pigeons necks wrung, and a whole deer hangs on the wall. My
teeth itch just with looking on! To-morrow the journey commences!"
Yes, to-morrow! Rudy and Babette sat together for the last time in the
mill.
Without was the alpine glow; the evening bells pealed; the daughters
of the Sun sang: "What is for the best will take place!"
XIV.
THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT.
The sun had gone down; the clouds lowered themselves into the Rhone
valley--between the high mountains; the wind blew from the south over
the mountains--an African wind, a Foehn,--which tore the clouds
asunder. When the wind had passed, all was still for an instant; the
parted clouds hung in fantastic forms between the forest-grown
mountains. Over the hastening Rhone, their shapes resembled
sea-monsters of the primeval world, soaring eagles of the air and
leaping frogs of the ditches--they seemed to sink into the rapid
stream and to sail on the river, yet they still floated in the air.
The stream carried away a pine tree, torn up by the roots; and the
water sent whirlpools ahead; this was Vertigo, with her attendants,
and they danced in circles on the foaming stream. The moon shone on
the snow of the mountain-peaks; it lighted up the dark forest and the
singular white clouds; the peasants of the mountain, saw through their
window panes, the nightly apparitions and the spirits of the powers of
nature, as they sailed before the Ice-Maiden. She came from her
glacier castle, she sat in a frail bark, a felled fir-tree; the water
of the glaciers carried her up the stream out to the main sea.
"The wedding guests are coming!" was whizzed and sung in the air and
in the water.
Visions without and visions within!
Babette dreamt a wonderful dream.
It appeared to her, as though she was married to Rudy, and had been so
for many years. He had gone chamois hunting and as she sat at home,
the young Englishman with the golden whiskers was beside her; his eyes
were fiery, his words seemed endowed with magical power; he reached
her his hand and she was obliged to follow him.
They flew from home. Steadily downwards.
A weight lay upon her heart and it grew ever heavier. It was a sin
against Rudy, a sin against God; suddenly she stood forsaken. Her
clothes were torn by the thorns; her hair had grown grey; she looked
up in her sorrow and she saw Rudy on the edge of the rock. She
stretched her arms towards him, but she ventured neither to call, nor
to implore him; but she soon saw that it was not he himself, only his
hunting coat and hat, which were hanging on his alpine staff, as the
hunters are accustomed to place them, in order to deceive the chamois!
Babette moaned in boundless anguish:
"Ah! would that I had died on my wedding day, my happiest day! Oh! my
heavenly Father! That would have been a mercy, a life's happiness!
Then we would have obtained, the best, that could have happened to us!
No one knows his future!" In her impious sorrow, she threw herself
down the steep precipice. It seemed as if a string broke, and a
sorrowful tone resounded.
Babette awoke--the dream was at an end and obliterated; but she knew
that she had dreamt of something terrible, and of the young
Englishman, whom she had neither seen, nor thought of, for many
months. Was he perhaps in Montreux? Should she see him at her
wedding? A slight shadow flitted over her delicate mouth, her brow
contracted; but her smile soon returned; her eyes sparkled again; the
sun shone so beautifully without, and to-morrow, yes to-morrow was her
and Rudy's wedding day.
Rudy had already arrived, when she came down stairs, and they soon
left for Villeneuve. They were so happy, the two, and the miller also;
he laughed and was radiant with joy; he was a good father, an honest
soul.
"Now we are the masters of the house!" said the parlour-cat.
XV.
CONCLUSION.
It was not yet night, when the three joyous people reached Villeneuve
and took their dinner. The miller seated himself in an arm-chair with
his pipe and took a little nap. The betrothed went out of the town arm
in arm, out on the carriage way, under the bush-grown rocks, to the
deep bluish-green lake. Sombre Chillon, with its grey walls and heavy
towers, mirrored itself in the clear water; but still nearer lay the
little island, with its three acacias, and it looked like a bouquet on
the lake.
"How charming it must be there!" said Babette; she felt again the
greatest desire to visit it, and this wish could be immediately
fulfilled; for a boat lay on the shore and the rope which fastened it,
was easy to untie. As no one was visible, from whom they could ask
permission, they took the boat without hesitation, for Rudy could row
well. The oars skimmed like the fins of a fish, over the pliant water,
which is so yielding and still so strong; which is all back to carry,
but all mouth to engulph; which smiles--yes, is gentleness itself, and
still awakens terror--and is so powerful in destroying. The rapid
current soon brought the boat to the island; they stepped on land.
There was just room enough for the two to dance.
Rudy swung Babette three times around, and then they seated themselves
on the little bench, under the acacias, looked into each other's eyes,
held each other by the hand, and everything around them shone in the
splendour of the setting sun. The forests of fir-trees on the
mountains became of a pinkish lilac aspect, the colour of blooming
heath, and where the bare rocks were apparent, they glowed as if they
were transparent. The clouds in the sky were radiant with a red glow;
the whole lake was like a fresh flaming rose leaf. As the shadows
arose to the snow-covered mountains of Savoy, they became dark blue,
but the uppermost peak seemed like red lava and pointed out for a
moment, the whole range of mountains, whose masses arose glowing from
the bosom of the earth.
It seemed to Rudy and Babette, that they had never seen such an alpine
glow. The snow-covered Dent-du-Midi, had a lustre like the full moon,
when it rises to the horizon.
"So much beauty, so much happiness!" they both said.
"Earth can give me no more," said Rudy, "an evening hour like this is
a whole life! How often have I felt as now, and thought that if
everything should end suddenly, how happily have I lived! How blessed
is this world! The day ended, a new one dawned and I felt that it was
still more beautiful! How bountiful is our Lord, Babette!"
"I am so happy!" said she.
"Earth can give me no more!" exclaimed Rudy.
The evening bells resounded from the Savoy and Swiss mountains; the
bluish-black Jura arose in golden splendour towards the west.
"God give you that which is most excellent and best, Rudy!" said
Babette.
"He will do that," answered Rudy, "to-morrow I shall have it!
To-morrow you will be entirely mine! Mine own, little, lovely wife!"
"The boat!" cried Babette at the same moment.
The boat, which was to convey them back, had broken loose and was
sailing from the island.
"I will go for it!" said Rudy. He threw off his coat, drew off his
boots, sprang in the lake and swam towards the boat.
The clear, bluish-grey water of the ice mountains, was cold and deep.
Rudy gave but a single glance and it seemed as though he saw a gold
ring, rolling, shining and sporting--he thought on his lost engagement
ring--and the ring grew larger, widened into a sparkling circle and
within it shone the clear glacier; all about yawned endless deep
chasms; the water dropped and sounded like a chime of bells, and shone
with bluish-white flames. He saw in a second, what we must say in many
long words. Young hunters and young girls, men and women, who had
once perished in the glacier, stood there living, with open eyes and
smiling mouth; deep below them chimed from buried towns the peal of
church bells; under the arches of the churches knelt the congregation;
pieces of ice formed the organ pipes, and the mountain stream played
the organ. On the clear transparent ground sat the Ice-Maiden; she
raised herself towards Rudy, kissed his feet, and the coldness of
death ran through his limbs and gave him an electric shock--ice and
fire. He could not perceive the difference.
"Mine, mine!" sounded around him and within him.
"I kissed you, when you were young, kissed you on your mouth! Now I
kiss your feet, you are entirely mine!"
He vanished in the clear blue water.
Everything was still; the church bells stopped ringing; the last tones
died away with the splendour of the red clouds.
"You are mine!" sounded in the deep. "You are mine!" sounded from on
high, from the infinite.
How happy to fly from love to love, from earth to heaven!
A string broke, a cry of grief was heard, the icy kiss of death
conquered; the prelude ended; so that the drama of life might
commence, discord melted into harmony.--
Do you call this a sad story?
Poor Babette! For her it was a period of anguish.
The boat drifted farther and farther. No one on shore knew that the
lovers were on the island. The evening darkened, the clouds lowered
themselves; night came. She stood there, solitary, despairing,
moaning. A flash of lightning passed over the Jura mountains, over
Switzerland and over Savoy. From all sides flash upon flash of
lightning, clap upon clap of thunder, which rolled continuously many
minutes. At times the lightning was vivid as sunshine, and you could
distinguish the grape vines; then all became black again in the dark
night. The lightning formed knots, ties, zigzags, complicated figures;
it struck in the lake, so that it lit it up on all sides; whilst the
noise of the thunder was made louder by the echo. The boat was drawn
on shore; all living objects sought shelter. Now the rain streamed
down.
"Where can Rudy and Babette be in this frightful weather!" said the
miller.
Babette sat with folded hands, with her head in her lap, mute with
sorrow, with screaming and bewailing.
"In the deep water," said she to herself, "he is as far down as the
glaciers!"
She remembered what Rudy had related to her of his mother's death, of
his preservation, and how he was withdrawn death-like, from the clefts
of the glacier. "The Ice-Maiden has him again!"
There was a flash of lightning, as dazzling as the sunlight on the
white snow. Babette started up; at this instant, the sea rose like a
glittering glacier; there stood the Ice-Maiden majestic, pale, blue,
shining, and at her feet lay Rudy's corpse. "Mine!" said she, and then
all around was fog and night and streaming water.
"Cruel!" moaned Babette, "why must he die, now that the day of our
happiness approached. God! Enlighten my understanding! Enlighten my
heart! I do not understand thy ways! Notwithstanding all thy
omnipotence and wisdom, I still grope in the darkness."
God enlightened her heart. A thought like a ray of mercy, her last
night's dream in all its vividness flashed through her; she remembered
the words which she had spoken: "the wish for the best for herself and
Rudy."
"Woe is me! Was that the sinful seed in my heart? Did my dream
foretell my future life? Is all this misery for my salvation? Me,
miserable one!"
Lamenting, sat she in the dark night. In the solemn stillness, sounded
Rudy's last words; the last ones he had uttered: "Earth has no more
happiness to give me!" She had heard it in the fullness of her joy,
she heard it again in all the depths of her sorrow.
* * * * *
A couple of years have passed since then. The lake smiles, the coast
smiles; the vine branches are filled with ripe grapes; the steamboats
glide along with waving flags and the pleasure boats float over the
watery mirror, with their two expanded sails like white butterflies.
The railroad to Chillon is opened; it leads into the Rhone valley;
strangers alight at every station; they arrive with their red covered
guide books and read of remarkable sights which are to be seen. They
visit Chillon, they stand upon the little island, with its three
acacias--out on the lake--and they read in the book about the
betrothed ones, who sailed over one evening in the year 1856;--of the
death of the bridegroom, and: "it was not till the next morning, that
the despairing shrieks of the bride were heard on the coast!"
The book does not tell, however, of Babette's quiet life with her
father; not in the mill, where strangers now dwell, but in the
beautiful house, near the railway station. There she looks from the
window many an evening and gazes over the chestnut trees, upon the
snow mountains, where Rudy once climbed. She sees in the evening hours
the alpine glow--the children of the Sun encamp themselves above, and
repeat the song of the wanderer, whose mantle the whirlwind tore off,
and carried away: "it took the covering but not the man."
There is a rosy hue on the snow of the mountains; there is a rosy hue
in every heart, where the thought dwells, that: "God always gives us
that which is best for us!" but it is not always revealed to us, as it
once happened to Babette in her dream.
The Butterfly.