No More Learning

But the steam-ship
passed it by, and did not stop till it reached Bernex. The little
party walked slowly from this place to Montreux, passing the sun-lit
walls with which the vineyards of the little mountain town of Montreux
are surrounded, and peasants' houses, overshadowed by fig-trees,
with gardens in which grow the laurel and the cypress.

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

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

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

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

"I have been so amused," she said.

The cousin had found her quite perfect.

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

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

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

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


XI. THE COUSIN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


XII. EVIL POWERS

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

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

"How did you come here? " he asked.

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

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

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

"You are bold," said Rudy.

"And so are you," she answered.

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

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

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

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

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

"My betrothal ring? " he replied.

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

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

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

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


XIII. AT THE MILL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


XIV. NIGHT VISIONS

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

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

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

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


XV. THE CONCLUSION

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




THE JEWISH MAIDEN

In a charity school, among the children, sat a little Jewish girl.
She was a good, intelligent child, and very quick at her lessons;
but the Scripture-lesson class she was not allowed to join, for this
was a Christian school. During the hour of this lesson, the Jewish
girl was allowed to learn her geography, or to work her sum for the
next day; and when her geography lesson was perfect, the book remained
open before her, but she read not another word, for she sat silently
listening to the words of the Christian teacher. He soon became
aware that the little one was paying more attention to what he said
than most of the other children. "Read your book, Sarah," he said to
her gently.

But again and again he saw her dark, beaming eyes fixed upon
him; and once, when he asked her a question, she could answer him even
better than the other children. She had not only heard, but understood
his words, and pondered them in her heart. Her father, a poor but
honest man, had placed his daughter at the school on the conditions
that she should not be instructed in the Christian faith. But it might
have caused confusion, or raised discontent in the minds of the
other children if she had been sent out of the room, so she
remained; and now it was evident this could not go on. The teacher
went to her father, and advised him to remove his daughter from the
school, or to allow her to become a Christian. "I cannot any longer be
an idle spectator of those beaming eyes, which express such a deep and
earnest longing for the words of the gospel," said he.

Then the father burst into tears. "I know very little of the law
of my fathers," said he; "but Sarah's mother was firm in her belief as
a daughter of Israel, and I vowed to her on her deathbed that our
child should never be baptized. I must keep my vow: it is to me even
as a covenant with God Himself. " And so the little Jewish girl left
the Christian school.

Years rolled by. In one of the smallest provincial towns, in a
humble household, lived a poor maiden of the Jewish faith, as a
servant. Her hair was black as ebony, her eye dark as night, yet
full of light and brilliancy so peculiar to the daughters of the east.
It was Sarah. The expression in the face of the grown-up maiden was
still the same as when, a child, she sat on the schoolroom form
listening with thoughtful eyes to the words of the Christian
teacher. Every Sunday there sounded forth from a church close by the
tones of an organ and the singing of the congregation. The Jewish girl
heard them in the house where, industrious and faithful in all things,
she performed her household duties. "Thou shalt keep the Sabbath
holy," said the voice of the law in her heart; but her Sabbath was a
working day among the Christians, which was a great trouble to her.
And then as the thought arose in her mind, "Does God reckon by days
and hours? " her conscience felt satisfied on this question, and she
found it a comfort to her, that on the Christian Sabbath she could
have an hour for her own prayers undisturbed. The music and singing of
the congregation sounded in her ears while at work in her kitchen,
till the place itself became sacred to her. Then she would read in the
Old Testament, that treasure and comfort to her people, and it was
indeed the only Scriptures she could read. Faithfully in her inmost
thoughts had she kept the words of her father to her teacher when
she left the school, and the vow he had made to her dying mother
that she should never receive Christian baptism. The New Testament
must remain to her a sealed book, and yet she knew a great deal of its
teaching, and the sound of the gospel truths still lingered among
the recollections of her childhood.

One evening she was sitting in a corner of the dining-room,
while her master read aloud. It was not the gospel he read, but an old
story-book; therefore she might stay and listen to him. The story
related that a Hungarian knight, who had been taken prisoner by a
Turkish pasha, was most cruelly treated by him. He caused him to be
yoked with his oxen to the plough, and driven with blows from the whip
till the blood flowed, and he almost sunk with exhaustion and pain.
The faithful wife of the knight at home gave up all her jewels,
mortgaged her castle and land, and his friends raised large sums to
make up the ransom demanded for his release, which was most enormously
high. It was collected at last, and the knight released from slavery
and misery. Sick and exhausted, he reached home.

Ere long came another summons to a struggle with the foes of
Christianity. The still living knight heard the sound; he could endure
no more, he had neither peace nor rest. He caused himself to be lifted
on his war-horse; the color came into his cheeks, and his strength
returned to him again as he went forth to battle and to victory. The
very same pasha who had yoked him to the plough, became his
prisoner, and was dragged to a dungeon in the castle. But an hour
had scarcely passed, when the knight stood before the captive pasha,
and inquired, "What do you suppose awaiteth thee? "

"I know," replied the pasha; "retribution. "

"Yes, the retribution of a Christian," replied the knight. "The
teaching of Christ, the Teacher, commands us to forgive our enemies,
to love our neighbors; for God is love. Depart in peace: return to thy
home. I give thee back to thy loved ones. But in future be mild and
humane to all who are in trouble. "

Then the prisoner burst into tears, and exclaimed, "Oh how could I
imagine such mercy and forgiveness! I expected pain and torment. It
seemed to me so sure that I took poison, which I secretly carried
about me; and in a few hours its effects will destroy me. I must
die! Nothing can save me! But before I die, explain to me the teaching
which is so full of love and mercy, so great and God-like. Oh, that
I may hear his teaching, and die a Christian! " And his prayer was
granted.

This was the legend which the master read out of the old
story-book. Every one in the house who was present listened, and
shared the pleasure; but Sarah, the Jewish girl, sitting so still in a
corner, felt her heart burn with excitement. Great tears came into her
shining dark eyes; and with the same gentle piety with which she had
once listened to the gospel while sitting on the form at school, she
felt its grandeur now, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. Then
the last words of her dying mother rose before her, "Let not my
child become a Christian;" and with them sounded in her heart the
words of the law, "Honor thy father and thy mother. "

"I am not admitted among the Christians," she said; "they mock
me as a Jewish girl; the neighbors' boys did so last Sunday when I
stood looking in through the open church door at the candles burning
on the altar, and listening to the singing. Ever since I sat on the
school-bench I have felt the power of Christianity; a power which,
like a sunbeam, streams into my heart, however closely I may close
my eyes against it. But I will not grieve thee, my mother, in thy
grave. I will not be unfaithful to my father's vow. I will not read
the Bible of the Christian. I have the God of my fathers, and in Him I
will trust. "

And again years passed by. Sarah's master died, and his widow
found herself in such reduced circumstances that she wished to dismiss
her servant maid; but Sarah refused to leave the house, and she became
a true support in time of trouble, and kept the household together
by working till late at night, with her busy hands, to earn their
daily bread. Not a relative came forward to assist them, and the widow
was confined to a sick bed for months and grew weaker from day to day.
Sarah worked hard, but contrived to spare time to amuse her and
watch by the sick bed. She was gentle and pious, an angel of
blessing in that house of poverty.

"My Bible lies on the table yonder," said the sick woman one day
to Sarah. "Read me something from it; the night appears so long, and
my spirit thirsts to hear the word of God. "

And Sarah bowed her head. She took the book, and folded her hand
over the Bible of the Christians, and at last opened it, and read to
the sick woman. Tears stood in her eyes as she read, and they shone
with brightness, for in her heart it was light.

"Mother," she murmured, "thy child may not receive Christian
baptism, nor be admitted into the congregation of Christian people.
Thou hast so willed it, and I will respect thy command. We are
therefore still united here on earth; but in the next world there will
be a higher union, even with God Himself, who leads and guides His
people till death. He came down from heaven to earth to suffer for us,
that we should bring forth the fruits of repentance. I understand it
now.