The sun had gone down, and the clouds lay low on the valley of the
Rhone. The wind blew from the south across the mountains; it was an
African wind, a wind which scattered the clouds for a moment, and then
suddenly fell. The broken clouds hung in fantastic forms upon the
wood-covered hills by the rapid Rhone. They assumed the shapes of
antediluvian animals, of eagles hovering in the air, of frogs
leaping over a marsh, and then sunk down upon the rushing stream and
appeared to sail upon it, although floating in the air. An uprooted
fir-tree was being carried away by the current, and marking out its
path by eddying circles on the water. Vertigo and his sisters were
dancing upon it, and raising these circles on the foaming river. The
moon lighted up the snow on the mountain-tops, shone on the dark
woods, and on the drifting clouds those fantastic forms which at night
might be taken for spirits of the powers of nature. The
mountain-dweller saw them through the panes of his little window. They
sailed in hosts before the Ice Maiden as she came out of her palace of
ice. Then she seated herself on the trunk of the fir-tree as on a
broken skiff, and the water from the glaciers carried her down the
river to the open lake.
"The wedding guests are coming," sounded from air and sea. These
were the sights and sounds without; within there were visions, for
Babette had a wonderful dream. She dreamt that she had been married to
Rudy for many years, and that, one day when he was out chamois
hunting, and she alone in their dwelling at home, the young Englishman
with the golden whiskers sat with her. His eyes were quite eloquent,
and his words possessed a magic power; he offered her his hand, and
she was obliged to follow him. They went out of the house and
stepped downwards, always downwards, and it seemed to Babette as if
she had a weight on her heart which continually grew heavier. She felt
she was committing a sin against Rudy, a sin against God. Suddenly she
found herself forsaken, her clothes torn by the thorns, and her hair
gray; she looked upwards in her agony, and there, on the edge of the
rock, she espied Rudy. She stretched out her arms to him, but she
did not venture to call him or to pray; and had she called him, it
would have been useless, for it was not Rudy, only his hunting coat
and hat hanging on an alpenstock, as the hunters sometimes arrange
them to deceive the chamois. "Oh!" she exclaimed in her agony; "oh,
that I had died on the happiest day of my life, my wedding-day. O my
God, it would have been a mercy and a blessing had Rudy travelled
far away from me, and I had never known him. None know what will
happen in the future." And then, in ungodly despair, she cast
herself down into the deep rocky gulf. The spell was broken; a cry
of terror escaped her, and she awoke.
The dream was over; it had vanished. But she knew she had dreamt
something frightful about the young Englishman, yet months had
passed since she had seen him or even thought of him. Was he still
at Montreux, and should she meet him there on her wedding day? A
slight shadow passed over her pretty mouth as she thought of this, and
she knit her brows; but the smile soon returned to her lip, and joy
sparkled in her eyes, for this was the morning of the day on which she
and Rudy were to be married, and the sun was shining brightly. Rudy
was already in the parlor when she entered it, and they very soon
started for Villeneuve. Both of them were overflowing with
happiness, and the miller was in the best of tempers, laughing and
merry; he was a good, honest soul, and a kind father.
"Now we are masters of the house," said the parlor-cat.