He
had strong muscular power, as could be seen when he leapt from rock to
rock.
had strong muscular power, as could be seen when he leapt from rock to
rock.
Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen
She set out homewards in the month of June, carrying her
infant in her arms, and, accompanied by two chamois hunters, crossed
the Gemmi on her way to Grindelwald. They had already left more than
half the journey behind them. They had crossed high ridges, and
traversed snow-fields; they could even see her native valley, with its
familiar wooden cottages. They had only one more glacier to climb.
Some newly fallen snow concealed a cleft which, though it did not
extend to the foaming waters in the depths beneath, was still much
deeper than the height of a man. The young woman, with the child in
her arms, slipped upon it, sank in, and disappeared. Not a shriek, not
a groan was heard; nothing but the whining of a little child. More
than an hour elapsed before her two companions could obtain from the
nearest house ropes and poles to assist in raising them; and it was
with much exertion that they at last succeeded in raising from the
crevasse what appeared to be two dead bodies. Every means was used
to restore them to life. With the child they were successful, but
not with the mother; so the old grandfather received his daughter's
little son into his house an orphan,--a little boy who laughed more
than he cried; but it seemed as if laughter had left him in the cold
ice-world into which he had fallen, where, as the Swiss peasants
say, the souls of the lost are confined till the judgment-day.
The glaciers appear as if a rushing stream had been frozen in
its course, and pressed into blocks of green crystal, which,
balanced one upon another, form a wondrous palace of crystal for the
Ice Maiden--the queen of the glaciers. It is she whose mighty power
can crush the traveller to death, and arrest the flowing river in
its course. She is also a child of the air, and with the swiftness
of the chamois she can reach the snow-covered mountain tops, where the
boldest mountaineer has to cut footsteps in the ice to ascend. She
will sail on a frail pine-twig over the raging torrents beneath, and
spring lightly from one iceberg to another, with her long,
snow-white hair flowing around her, and her dark-green robe glittering
like the waters of the deep Swiss lakes. "Mine is the power to seize
and crush," she cried. "Once a beautiful boy was stolen from me by
man,--a boy whom I had kissed, but had not kissed to death. He is
again among mankind, and tends the goats on the mountains. He is
always climbing higher and higher, far away from all others, but not
from me. He is mine; I will send for him. " And she gave Vertigo the
commission.
It was summer, and the Ice Maiden was melting amidst the green
verdure, when Vertigo swung himself up and down. Vertigo has many
brothers, quite a troop of them, and the Ice Maiden chose the
strongest among them. They exercise their power in different ways, and
everywhere. Some sit on the banisters of steep stairs, others on the
outer rails of lofty towers, or spring like squirrels along the ridges
of the mountains. Others tread the air as a swimmer treads the
water, and lure their victims here and there till they fall into the
deep abyss. Vertigo and the Ice Maiden clutch at human beings, as
the polypus seizes upon all that comes within its reach. And now
Vertigo was to seize Rudy.
"Seize him, indeed," cried Vertigo; "I cannot do it. That
monster of a cat has taught him her tricks. That child of the human
race has a power within him which keeps me at a distance; I cannot
possibly reach the boy when he hangs from the branches of trees,
over the precipice; or I would gladly tickle his feet, and send him
heels over head through the air; but I cannot accomplish it. "
"We must accomplish it," said the Ice Maiden; "either you or I
must; and I will--I will! "
"No, no! " sounded through the air, like an echo on the mountain
church bells chime. It was an answer in song, in the melting tones
of a chorus from others of nature's spirits--good and loving
spirits, the daughters of the sunbeam. They who place themselves in
a circle every evening on the mountain peaks; there they spread out
their rose-colored wings, which, as the sun sinks, become more flaming
red, until the lofty Alps seem to burn with fire. Men call this the
Alpine glow. After the sun has set, they disappear within the white
snow on the mountain-tops, and slumber there till sunrise, when they
again come forth. They have great love for flowers, for butterflies,
and for mankind; and from among the latter they had chosen little
Rudy. "You shall not catch him; you shall not seize him! " they sang.
"Greater and stronger than he have I seized! " said the Ice Maiden.
Then the daughters of the sun sang a song of the traveller,
whose cloak had been carried away by the wind. "The wind took the
covering, but not the man; it could even seize upon him, but not
hold him fast. The children of strength are more powerful, more
ethereal, even than we are. They can rise higher than our parent,
the sun. They have the magic words that rule the wind and the waves,
and compel them to serve and obey; and they can, at last, cast off the
heavy, oppressive weight of mortality, and soar upwards. " Thus sweetly
sounded the bell-like tones of the chorus.
And each morning the sun's rays shone through the one little
window of the grandfather's house upon the quiet child. The
daughters of the sunbeam kissed him; they wished to thaw, and melt,
and obliterate the ice kiss which the queenly maiden of the glaciers
had given him as he lay in the lap of his dead mother, in the deep
crevasse of ice from which he had been so wonderfully rescued.
II. THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME
Rudy was just eight years old, when his uncle, who lived on the
other side of the mountain, wished to have the boy, as he thought he
might obtain a better education with him, and learn something more.
His grandfather thought the same, so he consented to let him go.
Rudy had many to say farewell to, as well as his grandfather. First,
there was Ajola, the old dog.
"Your father was the postilion, and I was the postilion's dog,"
said Ajola. "We have often travelled the same journey together; I knew
all the dogs and men on this side of the mountain. It is not my
habit to talk much; but now that we have so little time to converse
together, I will say something more than usual. I will relate to you a
story, which I have reflected upon for a long time. I do not
understand it, and very likely you will not, but that is of no
consequence. I have, however, learnt from it that in this world things
are not equally divided, neither for dogs nor for men. All are not
born to lie on the lap and to drink milk: I have never been petted
in this way, but I have seen a little dog seated in the place of a
gentleman or lady, and travelling inside a post-chaise. The lady,
who was his mistress, or of whom he was master, carried a bottle of
milk, of which the little dog now and then drank; she also offered him
pieces of sugar to crunch. He sniffed at them proudly, but would not
eat one, so she ate them herself. I was running along the dirty road
by the side of the carriage as hungry as a dog could be, chewing the
cud of my own thoughts, which were rather in confusion. But many other
things seemed in confusion also. Why was not I lying on a lap and
travelling in a coach? I could not tell; yet I knew I could not
alter my own condition, either by barking or growling. "
This was Ajola's farewell speech, and Rudy threw his arms round
the dog's neck and kissed his cold nose. Then he took the cat in his
arms, but he struggled to get free.
"You are getting too strong for me," he said; "but I will not
use my claws against you. Clamber away over the mountains; it was I
who taught you to climb. Do not fancy you are going to fall, and you
will be quite safe. " Then the cat jumped down and ran away; he did not
wish Rudy to see that there were tears in his eyes.
The hens were hopping about the floor; one of them had no tail;
a traveller, who fancied himself a sportsman, had shot off her tail,
he had mistaken her for a bird of prey.
"Rudy is going away over the mountains," said one of the hens.
"He is always in such a hurry," said the other; "and I don't
like taking leave," so they both hopped out.
But the goats said farewell; they bleated and wanted to go with
him, they were so very sorry.
Just at this time two clever guides were going to cross the
mountains to the other side of the Gemmi, and Rudy was to go with them
on foot. It was a long walk for such a little boy, but he had plenty
of strength and invincible courage. The swallows flew with him a
little way, singing, "We and you--you and we. " The way led across
the rushing Lutschine, which falls in numerous streams from the dark
clefts of the Grindelwald glaciers. Trunks of fallen trees and
blocks of stone form bridges over these streams. After passing a
forest of alders, they began to ascend, passing by some blocks of
ice that had loosened themselves from the side of the mountain and lay
across their path; they had to step over these ice-blocks or walk
round them. Rudy crept here and ran there, his eyes sparkling with
joy, and he stepped so firmly with his iron-tipped mountain shoe, that
he left a mark behind him wherever he placed his foot.
The earth was black where the mountain torrents or the melted
ice had poured upon it, but the bluish green, glassy ice sparkled
and glittered. They had to go round little pools, like lakes, enclosed
between large masses of ice; and, while thus wandering out of their
path, they came near an immense stone, which lay balanced on the
edge of an icy peak. The stone lost its balance just as they reached
it, and rolled over into the abyss beneath, while the noise of its
fall was echoed back from every hollow cliff of the glaciers.
They were always going upwards. The glaciers seemed to spread
above them like a continued chain of masses of ice, piled up in wild
confusion between bare and rugged rocks. Rudy thought for a moment
of what had been told him, that he and his mother had once lain buried
in one of these cold, heart-chilling fissures; but he soon banished
such thoughts, and looked upon the story as fabulous, like many
other stories which had been told him. Once or twice, when the men
thought the way was rather difficult for such a little boy, they
held out their hands to assist him; but he would not accept their
assistance, for he stood on the slippery ice as firmly as if he had
been a chamois. They came at length to rocky ground; sometimes
stepping upon moss-covered stones, sometimes passing beneath stunted
fir-trees, and again through green meadows. The landscape was always
changing, but ever above them towered the lofty snow-clad mountains,
whose names not only Rudy but every other child knew--"The
Jungfrau," "The Monk and the Eiger. "
Rudy had never been so far away before; he had never trodden on
the wide-spreading ocean of snow that lay here with its immovable
billows, from which the wind blows off the snowflake now and then,
as it cuts the foam from the waves of the sea. The glaciers stand here
so close together it might almost be said they are hand-in-hand; and
each is a crystal palace for the Ice Maiden, whose power and will it
is to seize and imprison the unwary traveller.
The sun shone warmly, and the snow sparkled as if covered with
glittering diamonds. Numerous insects, especially butterflies and
bees, lay dead in heaps on the snow. They had ventured too high, or
the wind had carried them here and left them to die of cold.
Around the Wetterhorn hung a feathery cloud, like a woolbag, and a
threatening cloud too, for as it sunk lower it increased in size,
and concealed within was a "fohn," fearful in its violence should it
break loose. This journey, with its varied incidents,--the wild paths,
the night passed on the mountain, the steep rocky precipices, the
hollow clefts, in which the rustling waters from time immemorial had
worn away passages for themselves through blocks of stone,--all
these were firmly impressed on Rudy's memory.
In a forsaken stone building, which stood just beyond the seas
of snow, they one night took shelter. Here they found some charcoal
and pine branches, so that they soon made a fire. They arranged
couches to lie on as well as they could, and then the men seated
themselves by the fire, took out their pipes, and began to smoke. They
also prepared a warm, spiced drink, of which they partook and Rudy was
not forgotten--he had his share. Then they began to talk of those
mysterious beings with which the land of the Alps abounds; the hosts
of apparitions which come in the night, and carry off the sleepers
through the air, to the wonderful floating town of Venice; of the wild
herds-man, who drives the black sheep across the meadows. These flocks
are never seen, yet the tinkle of their little bells has often been
heard, as well as their unearthly bleating. Rudy listened eagerly, but
without fear, for he knew not what fear meant; and while he
listened, he fancied he could hear the roaring of the spectral herd.
It seemed to come nearer and roar louder, till the men heard it also
and listened in silence, till, at length, they told Rudy that he
must not dare to sleep. It was a "fohn," that violent storm-wind which
rushes from the mountain to the valley beneath, and in its fury
snaps asunder the trunks of large trees as if they were but slender
reeds, and carries the wooden houses from one side of a river to the
other as easily as we could move the pieces on a chess-board. After an
hour had passed, they told Rudy that it was all over, and he might
go to sleep; and, fatigued with his long walk, he readily slept at the
word of command.
Very early the following morning they again set out. The sun on
this day lighted up for Rudy new mountains, new glaciers, and new
snow-fields. They had entered the Canton Valais, and found
themselves on the ridge of the hills which can be seen from
Grindelwald; but he was still far from his new home. They pointed
out to him other clefts, other meadows, other woods and rocky paths,
and other houses. Strange men made their appearance before him, and
what men! They were misshapen, wretched-looking creatures, with yellow
complexions; and on their necks were dark, ugly lumps of flesh,
hanging down like bags. They were called cretins. They dragged
themselves along painfully, and stared at the strangers with vacant
eyes. The women looked more dreadful than the men. Poor Rudy! were
these the sort of people he should see at his new home?
III. THE UNCLE
Rudy arrived at last at his uncle's house, and was thankful to
find the people like those he had been accustomed to see. There was
only one cretin amongst them, a poor idiot boy, one of those
unfortunate beings who, in their neglected conditions, go from house
to house, and are received and taken care of in different families,
for a month or two at a time.
Poor Saperli had just arrived at his uncle's house when Rudy came.
The uncle was an experienced hunter; he also followed the trade of a
cooper; his wife was a lively little person, with a face like a
bird, eyes like those of an eagle, and a long, hairy throat.
Everything was new to Rudy--the fashion of the dress, the manners, the
employments, and even the language; but the latter his childish ear
would soon learn. He saw also that there was more wealth here, when
compared with his former home at his grandfather's. The rooms were
larger, the walls were adorned with the horns of the chamois, and
brightly polished guns. Over the door hung a painting of the Virgin
Mary, fresh alpine roses and a burning lamp stood near it. Rudy's
uncle was, as we have said, one of the most noted chamois hunters in
the whole district, and also one of the best guides. Rudy soon
became the pet of the house; but there was another pet, an old
hound, blind and lazy, who would never more follow the hunt, well as
he had once done so. But his former good qualities were not forgotten,
and therefore the animal was kept in the family and treated with every
indulgence. Rudy stroked the old hound, but he did not like strangers,
and Rudy was as yet a stranger; he did not, however, long remain so,
he soon endeared himself to every heart, and became like one of the
family.
"We are not very badly off, here in the canton Valais," said his
uncle one day; "we have the chamois, they do not die so fast as the
wild goats, and it is certainly much better here now than in former
times. How highly the old times have been spoken of, but ours is
better. The bag has been opened, and a current of air now blows
through our once confined valley. Something better always makes its
appearance when old, worn-out things fail. "
When his uncle became communicative, he would relate stories of
his youthful days, and farther back still of the warlike times in
which his father had lived. Valais was then, as he expressed it,
only a closed-up bag, quite full of sick people, miserable cretins;
but the French soldiers came, and they were capital doctors, they soon
killed the disease and the sick people, too. The French people knew
how to fight in more ways than one, and the girls knew how to
conquer too; and when he said this the uncle nodded at his wife, who
was a French woman by birth, and laughed. The French could also do
battle on the stones. "It was they who cut a road out of the solid
rock over the Simplon--such a road, that I need only say to a child of
three years old, 'Go down to Italy, you have only to keep in the
high road,' and the child will soon arrive in Italy, if he followed my
directions. "
Then the uncle sang a French song, and cried, "Hurrah! long live
Napoleon Buonaparte. " This was the first time Rudy had ever heard of
France, or of Lyons, that great city on the Rhone where his uncle
had once lived. His uncle said that Rudy, in a very few years, would
become a clever hunter, he had quite a talent for it; he taught the
boy to hold a gun properly, and to load and fire it. In the hunting
season he took him to the hills, and made him drink the warm blood
of the chamois, which is said to prevent the hunter from becoming
giddy; he taught him to know the time when, from the different
mountains, the avalanche is likely to fall, namely, at noontide or
in the evening, from the effects of the sun's rays; he made him
observe the movements of the chamois when he gave a leap, so that he
might fall firmly and lightly on his feet. He told him that when on
the fissures of the rocks he could find no place for his feet, he must
support himself on his elbows, and cling with his legs, and even
lean firmly with his back, for this could be done when necessary. He
told him also that the chamois are very cunning, they place
lookers-out on the watch; but the hunter must be more cunning than
they are, and find them out by the scent.
One day, when Rudy went out hunting with his uncle, he hung a coat
and hat on an alpine staff, and the chamois mistook it for a man, as
they generally do. The mountain path was narrow here; indeed it was
scarcely a path at all, only a kind of shelf, close to the yawning
abyss. The snow that lay upon it was partially thawed, and the
stones crumbled beneath the feet. Every fragment of stone broken off
struck the sides of the rock in its fall, till it rolled into the
depths beneath, and sunk to rest. Upon this shelf Rudy's uncle laid
himself down, and crept forward. At about a hundred paces behind him
stood Rudy, upon the highest point of the rock, watching a great
vulture hovering in the air; with a single stroke of his wing the bird
might easily cast the creeping hunter into the abyss beneath, and make
him his prey. Rudy's uncle had eyes for nothing but the chamois,
who, with its young kid, had just appeared round the edge of the rock.
So Rudy kept his eyes fixed on the bird, he knew well what the great
creature wanted; therefore he stood in readiness to discharge his
gun at the proper moment. Suddenly the chamois made a spring, and
his uncle fired and struck the animal with the deadly bullet; while
the young kid rushed away, as if for a long life he had been
accustomed to danger and practised flight. The large bird, alarmed
at the report of the gun, wheeled off in another direction, and Rudy's
uncle was saved from danger, of which he knew nothing till he was told
of it by the boy.
While they were both in pleasant mood, wending their way
homewards, and the uncle whistling the tune of a song he had learnt in
his young days, they suddenly heard a peculiar sound which seemed to
come from the top of the mountain. They looked up, and saw above them,
on the over-hanging rock, the snow-covering heave and lift itself as a
piece of linen stretched on the ground to dry raises itself when the
wind creeps under it. Smooth as polished marble slabs, the waves of
snow cracked and loosened themselves, and then suddenly, with the
rumbling noise of distant thunder, fell like a foaming cataract into
the abyss. An avalanche had fallen, not upon Rudy and his uncle, but
very near them. Alas, a great deal too near!
"Hold fast, Rudy! " cried his uncle; "hold fast, with all your
might. "
Then Rudy clung with his arms to the trunk of the nearest tree,
while his uncle climbed above him, and held fast by the branches.
The avalanche rolled past them at some distance; but the gust of
wind that followed, like the storm-wings of the avalanche, snapped
asunder the trees and bushes over which it swept, as if they had
been but dry rushes, and threw them about in every direction. The tree
to which Rudy clung was thus overthrown, and Rudy dashed to the
ground. The higher branches were snapped off, and carried away to a
great distance; and among these shattered branches lay Rudy's uncle,
with his skull fractured. When they found him, his hand was still
warm; but it would have been impossible to recognize his face. Rudy
stood by, pale and trembling; it was the first shock of his life,
the first time he had ever felt fear. Late in the evening he
returned home with the fatal news,--to that home which was now to be
so full of sorrow. His uncle's wife uttered not a word, nor shed a
tear, till the corpse was brought in; then her agony burst forth.
The poor cretin crept away to his bed, and nothing was seen of him
during the whole of the following day. Towards evening, however, he
came to Rudy, and said, "Will you write a letter for me? Saperli
cannot write; Saperli can only take the letters to the post. "
"A letter for you! " said Rudy; "who do you wish to write to? "
"To the Lord Christ," he replied.
"What do you mean? " asked Rudy.
Then the poor idiot, as the cretin was often called, looked at
Rudy with a most touching expression in his eyes, clasped his hands,
and said, solemnly and devoutly, "Saperli wants to send a letter to
Jesus Christ, to pray Him to let Saperli die, and not the master of
the house here. "
Rudy pressed his hand, and replied, "A letter would not reach
Him up above; it would not give him back whom we have lost. "
It was not, however, easy for Rudy to convince Saperli of the
impossibility of doing what he wished.
"Now you must work for us," said his foster-mother; and Rudy
very soon became the entire support of the house.
IV. BABETTE
Who was the best marksman in the canton Valais? The chamois knew
well. "Save yourselves from Rudy," they might well say. And who is the
handsomest marksman? "Oh, it is Rudy," said the maidens; but they
did not say, "Save yourselves from Rudy. " Neither did anxious
mothers say so; for he bowed to them as pleasantly as to the young
girls. He was so brave and cheerful. His cheeks were brown, his
teeth white, and his eyes dark and sparkling. He was now a handsome
young man of twenty years. The most icy water could not deter him from
swimming; he could twist and turn like a fish. None could climb like
he, and he clung as firmly to the edges of the rocks as a limpet.
He
had strong muscular power, as could be seen when he leapt from rock to
rock. He had learnt this first from the cat, and more lately from
the chamois. Rudy was considered the best guide over the mountains;
every one had great confidence in him. He might have made a great deal
of money as guide. His uncle had also taught him the trade of a
cooper; but he had no inclination for either; his delight was in
chamois-hunting, which also brought him plenty of money. Rudy would be
a very good match, as people said, if he would not look above his
own station. He was also such a famous partner in dancing, that the
girls often dreamt about him, and one and another thought of him
even when awake.
"He kissed me in the dance," said Annette, the schoolmaster's
daughter, to her dearest friend; but she ought not to have told
this, even to her dearest friend. It is not easy to keep such secrets;
they are like sand in a sieve; they slip out. It was therefore soon
known that Rudy, so brave and so good as he was, had kissed some one
while dancing, and yet he had never kissed her who was dearest to him.
"Ah, ah," said an old hunter, "he has kissed Annette, has he? he
has begun with A, and I suppose he will kiss through the whole
alphabet. "
But a kiss in the dance was all the busy tongues could accuse
him of. He certainly had kissed Annette, but she was not the flower of
his heart.
Down in the valley, near Bex, among the great walnut-trees, by the
side of a little rushing mountain-stream, lived a rich miller. His
dwelling-house was a large building, three storeys high, with little
turrets. The roof was covered with chips, bound together with tin
plates, that glittered in sunshine and in the moonlight. The largest
of the turrets had a weather-cock, representing an apple pierced by
a glittering arrow, in memory of William Tell. The mill was a neat and
well-ordered place, that allowed itself to be sketched and written
about; but the miller's daughter did not permit any to sketch or write
about her. So, at least, Rudy would have said, for her image was
pictured in his heart; her eyes shone in it so brightly, that quite
a flame had been kindled there; and, like all other fires, it had
burst forth so suddenly, that the miller's daughter, the beautiful
Babette, was quite unaware of it. Rudy had never spoken a word to
her on the subject. The miller was rich, and, on that account, Babette
stood very high, and was rather difficult to aspire to. But said
Rudy to himself, "Nothing is too high for a man to reach: he must
climb with confidence in himself, and he will not fail. " He had learnt
this lesson in his youthful home.
It happened once that Rudy had some business to settle at Bex.
It was a long journey at that time, for the railway had not been
opened. From the glaciers of the Rhone, at the foot of the Simplon,
between its ever-changing mountain summits, stretches the valley of
the canton Valais. Through it runs the noble river of the Rhone, which
often overflows its banks, covering fields and highways, and
destroying everything in its course. Near the towns of Sion and St.
Maurice, the valley takes a turn, and bends like an elbow, and
behind St. Maurice becomes so narrow that there is only space enough
for the bed of the river and a narrow carriage-road. An old tower
stands here, as if it were guardian to the canton Valais, which ends
at this point; and from it we can look across the stone bridge to
the toll-house on the other side, where the canton Vaud commences. Not
far from this spot stands the town of Bex, and at every step can be
seen an increase of fruitfulness and verdure. It is like entering a
grove of chestnut and walnut-trees. Here and there the cypress and
pomegranate blossoms peep forth; and it is almost as warm as an
Italian climate. Rudy arrived at Bex, and soon finished the business
which had brought him there, and then walked about the town; but not
even the miller's boy could be seen, nor any one belonging to the
mill, not to mention Babette. This did not please him at all.
Evening came on. The air was filled with the perfume of the wild thyme
and the blossoms of the lime-trees, and the green woods on the
mountains seemed to be covered with a shining veil, blue as the sky.
Over everything reigned a stillness, not of sleep or of death, but
as if Nature were holding her breath, that her image might be
photographed on the blue vault of heaven. Here and there, amidst the
trees of the silent valley, stood poles which supported the wires of
the electric telegraph. Against one of these poles leaned an object so
motionless that it might have been mistaken for the trunk of a tree;
but it was Rudy, standing there as still as at that moment was
everything around him. He was not asleep, neither was he dead; but
just as the various events in the world--matters of momentous
importance to individuals--were flying through the telegraph wires,
without the quiver of a wire or the slightest tone, so, through the
mind of Rudy, thoughts of overwhelming importance were passing,
without an outward sign of emotion. The happiness of his future life
depended upon the decision of his present reflections. His eyes were
fixed on one spot in the distance--a light that twinkled through the
foliage from the parlor of the miller's house, where Babette dwelt.
Rudy stood so still, that it might have been supposed he was
watching for a chamois; but he was in reality like a chamois, who will
stand for a moment, looking as if it were chiselled out of the rock,
and then, if only a stone rolled by, would suddenly bound forward with
a spring, far away from the hunter. And so with Rudy: a sudden roll of
his thoughts roused him from his stillness, and made him bound forward
with determination to act.
"Never despair! " cried he. "A visit to the mill, to say good
evening to the miller, and good evening to little Babette, can do no
harm. No one ever fails who has confidence in himself. If I am to be
Babette's husband, I must see her some time or other. "
Then Rudy laughed joyously, and took courage to go to the mill. He
knew what he wanted; he wanted to marry Babette. The clear water of
the river rolled over its yellow bed, and willows and lime-trees
were reflected in it, as Rudy stepped along the path to the miller's
house. But, as the children sing--
"There was no one at home in the house,
Only a kitten at play. "
The cat standing on the steps put up its back and cried "mew. " But
Rudy had no inclination for this sort of conversation; he passed on,
and knocked at the door. No one heard him, no one opened the door.
"Mew," said the cat again; and had Rudy been still a child, he would
have understood this language, and known that the cat wished to tell
him there was no one at home. So he was obliged to go to the mill
and make inquiries, and there he heard that the miller had gone on a
journey to Interlachen, and taken Babette with him, to the great
shooting festival, which began that morning, and would continue for
eight days, and that people from all the German settlements would be
there.
Poor Rudy! we may well say. It was not a fortunate day for his
visit to Bex. He had just to return the way he came, through St.
Maurice and Sion, to his home in the valley. But he did not despair.
When the sun rose the next morning, his good spirits had returned;
indeed he had never really lost them. "Babette is at Interlachen,"
said Rudy to himself, "many days' journey from here. It is certainly a
long way for any one who takes the high-road, but not so far if he
takes a short cut across the mountain, and that just suits a
chamois-hunter. I have been that way before, for it leads to the
home of my childhood, where, as a little boy, I lived with my
grandfather. And there are shooting matches at Interlachen. I will go,
and try to stand first in the match. Babette will be there, and I
shall be able to make her acquaintance. "
Carrying his light knapsack, which contained his Sunday clothes,
on his back, and with his musket and his game-bag over his shoulder,
Rudy started to take the shortest way across the mountain. Still it
was a great distance. The shooting matches were to commence on that
day, and to continue for a whole week. He had been told also that
the miller and Babette would remain that time with some relatives at
Interlachen. So over the Gemmi Rudy climbed bravely, and determined to
descend the side of the Grindelwald. Bright and joyous were his
feelings as he stepped lightly onwards, inhaling the invigorating
mountain air. The valley sunk as he ascended, the circle of the
horizon expanded. One snow-capped peak after another rose before
him, till the whole of the glittering Alpine range became visible.
Rudy knew each ice-clad peak, and he continued his course towards
the Schreckhorn, with its white powdered stone finger raised high in
the air. At length he had crossed the highest ridges, and before him
lay the green pasture lands sloping down towards the valley, which was
once his home. The buoyancy of the air made his heart light. Hill
and valley were blooming in luxuriant beauty, and his thoughts were
youthful dreams, in which old age or death were out of the question.
Life, power, and enjoyment were in the future, and he felt free and
light as a bird. And the swallows flew round him, as in the days of
his childhood, singing "We and you--you and we. " All was overflowing
with joy. Beneath him lay the meadows, covered with velvety green,
with the murmuring river flowing through them, and dotted here and
there were small wooden houses. He could see the edges of the
glaciers, looking like green glass against the soiled snow, and the
deep chasms beneath the loftiest glacier. The church bells were
ringing, as if to welcome him to his home with their sweet tones.
His heart beat quickly, and for a moment he seemed to have
foregotten Babette, so full were his thoughts of old recollections. He
was, in imagination, once more wandering on the road where, when a
little boy, he, with other children, came to sell their curiously
carved toy houses. Yonder, behind the fir-trees, still stood his
grandfather's house, his mother's father, but strangers dwelt in it
now. Children came running to him, as he had once done, and wished
to sell their wares. One of them offered him an Alpine rose. Rudy took
the rose as a good omen, and thought of Babette. He quickly crossed
the bridge where the two rivers flow into each other. Here he found
a walk over-shadowed with large walnut-trees, and their thick
foliage formed a pleasant shade. Very soon he perceived in the
distance, waving flags, on which glittered a white cross on a red
ground--the standard of the Danes as well as of the Swiss--and
before him lay Interlachen.
"It is really a splendid town, like none other that I have ever
seen," said Rudy to himself. It was indeed a Swiss town in its holiday
dress. Not like the many other towns, crowded with heavy stone houses,
stiff and foreign looking. No; here it seemed as if the wooden
houses on the hills had run into the valley, and placed themselves
in rows and ranks by the side of the clear river, which rushes like an
arrow in its course. The streets were rather irregular, it is true,
but still this added to their picturesque appearance. There was one
street which Rudy thought the prettiest of them all; it had been built
since he had visited the town when a little boy. It seemed to him as
if all the neatest and most curiously carved toy houses which his
grandfather once kept in the large cupboard at home, had been
brought out and placed in this spot, and that they had increased in
size since then, as the old chestnut trees had done. The houses were
called hotels; the woodwork on the windows and balconies was curiously
carved. The roofs were gayly painted, and before each house was a
flower garden, which separated it from the macadamized high-road.
These houses all stood on the same side of the road, so that the
fresh, green meadows, in which were cows grazing, with bells on
their necks, were not hidden. The sound of these bells is often
heard amidst Alpine scenery. These meadows were encircled by lofty
hills, which receded a little in the centre, so that the most
beautifully formed of Swiss mountains--the snow-crowned Jungfrau--could
be distinctly seen glittering in the distance. A number of
elegantly dressed gentlemen and ladies from foreign lands, and
crowds of country people from the neighboring cantons, were
assembled in the town. Each marksman wore the number of hits he had
made twisted in a garland round his hat. Here were music and singing
of all descriptions: hand-organs, trumpets, shouting, and noise. The
houses and bridges were adorned with verses and inscriptions. Flags
and banners were waving. Shot after shot was fired, which was the best
music to Rudy's ears. And amidst all this excitement he quite forgot
Babette, on whose account only he had come. The shooters were
thronging round the target, and Rudy was soon amongst them. But when
he took his turn to fire, he proved himself the best shot, for he
always struck the bull's-eye.
"Who may that young stranger be? " was the inquiry on all sides.
"He speaks French as it is spoken in the Swiss cantons. "
"And makes himself understood very well when he speaks German,"
said some.
"He lived here, when a child, with his grandfather, in a house
on the road to Grindelwald," remarked one of the sportsmen.
And full of life was this young stranger; his eyes sparkled, his
glance was steady, and his arm sure, therefore he always hit the mark.
Good fortune gives courage, and Rudy was always courageous. He soon
had a circle of friends gathered round him. Every one noticed him, and
did him homage. Babette had quite vanished from his thoughts, when
he was struck on the shoulder by a heavy hand, and a deep voice said
to him in French, "You are from the canton Valais. "
Rudy turned round, and beheld a man with a ruddy, pleasant face,
and a stout figure. It was the rich miller from Bex. His broad, portly
person, hid the slender, lovely Babette; but she came forward and
glanced at him with her bright, dark eyes. The rich miller was very
much flattered at the thought that the young man, who was acknowledged
to be the best shot, and was so praised by every one, should be from
his own canton. Now was Rudy really fortunate: he had travelled all
this way to this place, and those he had forgotten were now come to
seek him. When country people go far from home, they often meet with
those they know, and improve their acquaintance. Rudy, by his
shooting, had gained the first place in the shooting-match, just as
the miller at home at Bex stood first, because of his money and his
mill. So the two men shook hands, which they had never done before.
Babette, too, held out her hand to Rudy frankly, and he pressed it
in his, and looked at her so earnestly, that she blushed deeply. The
miller talked of the long journey they had travelled, and of the
many towns they had seen. It was his opinion that he had really made
as great a journey as if he had travelled in a steamship, a railway
carriage, or a post-chaise.
"I came by a much shorter way," said Rudy; "I came over the
mountains. There is no road so high that a man may not venture upon
it. "
"Ah, yes; and break your neck," said the miller; "and you look
like one who will break his neck some day, you are so daring. "
"Oh, nothing ever happens to a man if he has confidence in
himself," replied Rudy.
The miller's relations at Interlachen, with whom the miller and
Babette were staying, invited Rudy to visit them, when they found he
came from the same canton as the miller. It was a most pleasant visit.
Good fortune seemed to follow him, as it does those who think and
act for themselves, and who remember the proverb, "Nuts are given to
us, but they are not cracked for us. " And Rudy was treated by the
miller's relations almost like one of the family, and glasses of
wine were poured out to drink to the welfare of the best shooter.
Babette clinked glasses with Rudy, and he returned thanks for the
toast. In the evening they all took a delightful walk under the
walnut-trees, in front of the stately hotels; there were so many
people, and such crowding, that Rudy was obliged to offer his arm to
Babette. Then he told her how happy it made him to meet people from
the canton Vaud,--for Vaud and Valais were neighboring cantons. He
spoke of this pleasure so heartily that Babette could not resist
giving his arm a slight squeeze; and so they walked on together, and
talked and chatted like old acquaintances. Rudy felt inclined to laugh
sometimes at the absurd dress and walk of the foreign ladies; but
Babette did not wish to make fun of them, for she knew there must be
some good, excellent people amongst them; she, herself, had a
godmother, who was a high-born English lady. Eighteen years before,
when Babette was christened, this lady was staying at Bex, and she
stood godmother for her, and gave her the valuable brooch she now wore
in her bosom.
Her godmother had twice written to her, and this year she was
expected to visit Interlachen with her two daughters; "but they are
old-maids," added Babette, who was only eighteen: "they are nearly
thirty. " Her sweet little mouth was never still a moment, and all that
she said sounded in Rudy's ears as matters of the greatest importance,
and at last he told her what he was longing to tell. How often he
had been at Bex, how well he knew the mill, and how often he had
seen Babette, when most likely she had not noticed him; and lastly,
that full of many thoughts which he could not tell her, he had been to
the mill on the evening when she and her father has started on their
long journey, but not too far for him to find a way to overtake
them. He told her all this, and a great deal more; he told her how
much he could endure for her; and that it was to see her, and not
the shooting-match, which had brought him to Interlachen. Babette
became quite silent after hearing all this; it was almost too much,
and it troubled her.
And while they thus wandered on, the sun sunk behind the lofty
mountains. The Jungfrau stood out in brightness and splendor, as a
back-ground to the green woods of the surrounding hills. Every one
stood still to look at the beautiful sight, Rudy and Babette among
them.
"Nothing can be more beautiful than this," said Babette.
"Nothing! " replied Rudy, looking at Babette.
"To-morrow I must return home," remarked Rudy a few minutes
afterwards.
"Come and visit us at Bex," whispered Babette; "my father will
be pleased to see you. "
V. ON THE WAY HOME
Oh, what a number of things Rudy had to carry over the
mountains, when he set out to return home! He had three silver cups,
two handsome pistols, and a silver coffee-pot. This latter would be
useful when he began housekeeping. But all these were not the heaviest
weight he had to bear; something mightier and more important he
carried with him in his heart, over the high mountains, as he
journeyed homeward.
The weather was dismally dark, and inclined to rain; the clouds
hung low, like a mourning veil on the tops of the mountains, and
shrouded their glittering peaks. In the woods could be heard the sound
of the axe and the heavy fall of the trunks of the trees, as they
rolled down the slopes of the mountains. When seen from the heights,
the trunks of these trees looked like slender stems; but on a nearer
inspection they were found to be large and strong enough for the masts
of a ship. The river murmured monotonously, the wind whistled, and the
clouds sailed along hurriedly.
Suddenly there appeared, close by Rudy's side, a young maiden;
he had not noticed her till she came quite near to him. She was also
going to ascend the mountain. The maiden's eyes shone with an
unearthly power, which obliged you to look into them; they were
strange eyes,--clear, deep, and unfathomable.
"Hast thou a lover? " asked Rudy; all his thoughts were naturally
on love just then.
"I have none," answered the maiden, with a laugh; it was as if she
had not spoken the truth.
"Do not let us go such a long way round," said she. "We must
keep to the left; it is much shorter. "
"Ah, yes," he replied; "and fall into some crevasse. Do you
pretend to be a guide, and not know the road better than that? "
"I know every step of the way," said she; "and my thoughts are
collected, while yours are down in the valley yonder. We should
think of the Ice Maiden while we are up here; men say she is not
kind to their race. "
"I fear her not," said Rudy. "She could not keep me when I was a
child; I will not give myself up to her now I am a man. "
Darkness came on, the rain fell, and then it began to snow, and
the whiteness dazzled the eyes.
"Give me your hand," said the maiden; "I will help you to
mount. " And he felt the touch of her icy fingers.
"You help me," cried Rudy; "I do not yet require a woman to help
me to climb. " And he stepped quickly forwards away from her.
The drifting snow-shower fell like a veil between them, the wind
whistled, and behind him he could hear the maiden laughing and
singing, and the sound was most strange to hear.
"It certainly must be a spectre or a servant of the Ice Maiden,"
thought Rudy, who had heard such things talked about when he was a
little boy, and had stayed all night on the mountain with the guides.
The snow fell thicker than ever, the clouds lay beneath him; he
looked back, there was no one to be seen, but he heard sounds of
mocking laughter, which were not those of a human voice.
infant in her arms, and, accompanied by two chamois hunters, crossed
the Gemmi on her way to Grindelwald. They had already left more than
half the journey behind them. They had crossed high ridges, and
traversed snow-fields; they could even see her native valley, with its
familiar wooden cottages. They had only one more glacier to climb.
Some newly fallen snow concealed a cleft which, though it did not
extend to the foaming waters in the depths beneath, was still much
deeper than the height of a man. The young woman, with the child in
her arms, slipped upon it, sank in, and disappeared. Not a shriek, not
a groan was heard; nothing but the whining of a little child. More
than an hour elapsed before her two companions could obtain from the
nearest house ropes and poles to assist in raising them; and it was
with much exertion that they at last succeeded in raising from the
crevasse what appeared to be two dead bodies. Every means was used
to restore them to life. With the child they were successful, but
not with the mother; so the old grandfather received his daughter's
little son into his house an orphan,--a little boy who laughed more
than he cried; but it seemed as if laughter had left him in the cold
ice-world into which he had fallen, where, as the Swiss peasants
say, the souls of the lost are confined till the judgment-day.
The glaciers appear as if a rushing stream had been frozen in
its course, and pressed into blocks of green crystal, which,
balanced one upon another, form a wondrous palace of crystal for the
Ice Maiden--the queen of the glaciers. It is she whose mighty power
can crush the traveller to death, and arrest the flowing river in
its course. She is also a child of the air, and with the swiftness
of the chamois she can reach the snow-covered mountain tops, where the
boldest mountaineer has to cut footsteps in the ice to ascend. She
will sail on a frail pine-twig over the raging torrents beneath, and
spring lightly from one iceberg to another, with her long,
snow-white hair flowing around her, and her dark-green robe glittering
like the waters of the deep Swiss lakes. "Mine is the power to seize
and crush," she cried. "Once a beautiful boy was stolen from me by
man,--a boy whom I had kissed, but had not kissed to death. He is
again among mankind, and tends the goats on the mountains. He is
always climbing higher and higher, far away from all others, but not
from me. He is mine; I will send for him. " And she gave Vertigo the
commission.
It was summer, and the Ice Maiden was melting amidst the green
verdure, when Vertigo swung himself up and down. Vertigo has many
brothers, quite a troop of them, and the Ice Maiden chose the
strongest among them. They exercise their power in different ways, and
everywhere. Some sit on the banisters of steep stairs, others on the
outer rails of lofty towers, or spring like squirrels along the ridges
of the mountains. Others tread the air as a swimmer treads the
water, and lure their victims here and there till they fall into the
deep abyss. Vertigo and the Ice Maiden clutch at human beings, as
the polypus seizes upon all that comes within its reach. And now
Vertigo was to seize Rudy.
"Seize him, indeed," cried Vertigo; "I cannot do it. That
monster of a cat has taught him her tricks. That child of the human
race has a power within him which keeps me at a distance; I cannot
possibly reach the boy when he hangs from the branches of trees,
over the precipice; or I would gladly tickle his feet, and send him
heels over head through the air; but I cannot accomplish it. "
"We must accomplish it," said the Ice Maiden; "either you or I
must; and I will--I will! "
"No, no! " sounded through the air, like an echo on the mountain
church bells chime. It was an answer in song, in the melting tones
of a chorus from others of nature's spirits--good and loving
spirits, the daughters of the sunbeam. They who place themselves in
a circle every evening on the mountain peaks; there they spread out
their rose-colored wings, which, as the sun sinks, become more flaming
red, until the lofty Alps seem to burn with fire. Men call this the
Alpine glow. After the sun has set, they disappear within the white
snow on the mountain-tops, and slumber there till sunrise, when they
again come forth. They have great love for flowers, for butterflies,
and for mankind; and from among the latter they had chosen little
Rudy. "You shall not catch him; you shall not seize him! " they sang.
"Greater and stronger than he have I seized! " said the Ice Maiden.
Then the daughters of the sun sang a song of the traveller,
whose cloak had been carried away by the wind. "The wind took the
covering, but not the man; it could even seize upon him, but not
hold him fast. The children of strength are more powerful, more
ethereal, even than we are. They can rise higher than our parent,
the sun. They have the magic words that rule the wind and the waves,
and compel them to serve and obey; and they can, at last, cast off the
heavy, oppressive weight of mortality, and soar upwards. " Thus sweetly
sounded the bell-like tones of the chorus.
And each morning the sun's rays shone through the one little
window of the grandfather's house upon the quiet child. The
daughters of the sunbeam kissed him; they wished to thaw, and melt,
and obliterate the ice kiss which the queenly maiden of the glaciers
had given him as he lay in the lap of his dead mother, in the deep
crevasse of ice from which he had been so wonderfully rescued.
II. THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME
Rudy was just eight years old, when his uncle, who lived on the
other side of the mountain, wished to have the boy, as he thought he
might obtain a better education with him, and learn something more.
His grandfather thought the same, so he consented to let him go.
Rudy had many to say farewell to, as well as his grandfather. First,
there was Ajola, the old dog.
"Your father was the postilion, and I was the postilion's dog,"
said Ajola. "We have often travelled the same journey together; I knew
all the dogs and men on this side of the mountain. It is not my
habit to talk much; but now that we have so little time to converse
together, I will say something more than usual. I will relate to you a
story, which I have reflected upon for a long time. I do not
understand it, and very likely you will not, but that is of no
consequence. I have, however, learnt from it that in this world things
are not equally divided, neither for dogs nor for men. All are not
born to lie on the lap and to drink milk: I have never been petted
in this way, but I have seen a little dog seated in the place of a
gentleman or lady, and travelling inside a post-chaise. The lady,
who was his mistress, or of whom he was master, carried a bottle of
milk, of which the little dog now and then drank; she also offered him
pieces of sugar to crunch. He sniffed at them proudly, but would not
eat one, so she ate them herself. I was running along the dirty road
by the side of the carriage as hungry as a dog could be, chewing the
cud of my own thoughts, which were rather in confusion. But many other
things seemed in confusion also. Why was not I lying on a lap and
travelling in a coach? I could not tell; yet I knew I could not
alter my own condition, either by barking or growling. "
This was Ajola's farewell speech, and Rudy threw his arms round
the dog's neck and kissed his cold nose. Then he took the cat in his
arms, but he struggled to get free.
"You are getting too strong for me," he said; "but I will not
use my claws against you. Clamber away over the mountains; it was I
who taught you to climb. Do not fancy you are going to fall, and you
will be quite safe. " Then the cat jumped down and ran away; he did not
wish Rudy to see that there were tears in his eyes.
The hens were hopping about the floor; one of them had no tail;
a traveller, who fancied himself a sportsman, had shot off her tail,
he had mistaken her for a bird of prey.
"Rudy is going away over the mountains," said one of the hens.
"He is always in such a hurry," said the other; "and I don't
like taking leave," so they both hopped out.
But the goats said farewell; they bleated and wanted to go with
him, they were so very sorry.
Just at this time two clever guides were going to cross the
mountains to the other side of the Gemmi, and Rudy was to go with them
on foot. It was a long walk for such a little boy, but he had plenty
of strength and invincible courage. The swallows flew with him a
little way, singing, "We and you--you and we. " The way led across
the rushing Lutschine, which falls in numerous streams from the dark
clefts of the Grindelwald glaciers. Trunks of fallen trees and
blocks of stone form bridges over these streams. After passing a
forest of alders, they began to ascend, passing by some blocks of
ice that had loosened themselves from the side of the mountain and lay
across their path; they had to step over these ice-blocks or walk
round them. Rudy crept here and ran there, his eyes sparkling with
joy, and he stepped so firmly with his iron-tipped mountain shoe, that
he left a mark behind him wherever he placed his foot.
The earth was black where the mountain torrents or the melted
ice had poured upon it, but the bluish green, glassy ice sparkled
and glittered. They had to go round little pools, like lakes, enclosed
between large masses of ice; and, while thus wandering out of their
path, they came near an immense stone, which lay balanced on the
edge of an icy peak. The stone lost its balance just as they reached
it, and rolled over into the abyss beneath, while the noise of its
fall was echoed back from every hollow cliff of the glaciers.
They were always going upwards. The glaciers seemed to spread
above them like a continued chain of masses of ice, piled up in wild
confusion between bare and rugged rocks. Rudy thought for a moment
of what had been told him, that he and his mother had once lain buried
in one of these cold, heart-chilling fissures; but he soon banished
such thoughts, and looked upon the story as fabulous, like many
other stories which had been told him. Once or twice, when the men
thought the way was rather difficult for such a little boy, they
held out their hands to assist him; but he would not accept their
assistance, for he stood on the slippery ice as firmly as if he had
been a chamois. They came at length to rocky ground; sometimes
stepping upon moss-covered stones, sometimes passing beneath stunted
fir-trees, and again through green meadows. The landscape was always
changing, but ever above them towered the lofty snow-clad mountains,
whose names not only Rudy but every other child knew--"The
Jungfrau," "The Monk and the Eiger. "
Rudy had never been so far away before; he had never trodden on
the wide-spreading ocean of snow that lay here with its immovable
billows, from which the wind blows off the snowflake now and then,
as it cuts the foam from the waves of the sea. The glaciers stand here
so close together it might almost be said they are hand-in-hand; and
each is a crystal palace for the Ice Maiden, whose power and will it
is to seize and imprison the unwary traveller.
The sun shone warmly, and the snow sparkled as if covered with
glittering diamonds. Numerous insects, especially butterflies and
bees, lay dead in heaps on the snow. They had ventured too high, or
the wind had carried them here and left them to die of cold.
Around the Wetterhorn hung a feathery cloud, like a woolbag, and a
threatening cloud too, for as it sunk lower it increased in size,
and concealed within was a "fohn," fearful in its violence should it
break loose. This journey, with its varied incidents,--the wild paths,
the night passed on the mountain, the steep rocky precipices, the
hollow clefts, in which the rustling waters from time immemorial had
worn away passages for themselves through blocks of stone,--all
these were firmly impressed on Rudy's memory.
In a forsaken stone building, which stood just beyond the seas
of snow, they one night took shelter. Here they found some charcoal
and pine branches, so that they soon made a fire. They arranged
couches to lie on as well as they could, and then the men seated
themselves by the fire, took out their pipes, and began to smoke. They
also prepared a warm, spiced drink, of which they partook and Rudy was
not forgotten--he had his share. Then they began to talk of those
mysterious beings with which the land of the Alps abounds; the hosts
of apparitions which come in the night, and carry off the sleepers
through the air, to the wonderful floating town of Venice; of the wild
herds-man, who drives the black sheep across the meadows. These flocks
are never seen, yet the tinkle of their little bells has often been
heard, as well as their unearthly bleating. Rudy listened eagerly, but
without fear, for he knew not what fear meant; and while he
listened, he fancied he could hear the roaring of the spectral herd.
It seemed to come nearer and roar louder, till the men heard it also
and listened in silence, till, at length, they told Rudy that he
must not dare to sleep. It was a "fohn," that violent storm-wind which
rushes from the mountain to the valley beneath, and in its fury
snaps asunder the trunks of large trees as if they were but slender
reeds, and carries the wooden houses from one side of a river to the
other as easily as we could move the pieces on a chess-board. After an
hour had passed, they told Rudy that it was all over, and he might
go to sleep; and, fatigued with his long walk, he readily slept at the
word of command.
Very early the following morning they again set out. The sun on
this day lighted up for Rudy new mountains, new glaciers, and new
snow-fields. They had entered the Canton Valais, and found
themselves on the ridge of the hills which can be seen from
Grindelwald; but he was still far from his new home. They pointed
out to him other clefts, other meadows, other woods and rocky paths,
and other houses. Strange men made their appearance before him, and
what men! They were misshapen, wretched-looking creatures, with yellow
complexions; and on their necks were dark, ugly lumps of flesh,
hanging down like bags. They were called cretins. They dragged
themselves along painfully, and stared at the strangers with vacant
eyes. The women looked more dreadful than the men. Poor Rudy! were
these the sort of people he should see at his new home?
III. THE UNCLE
Rudy arrived at last at his uncle's house, and was thankful to
find the people like those he had been accustomed to see. There was
only one cretin amongst them, a poor idiot boy, one of those
unfortunate beings who, in their neglected conditions, go from house
to house, and are received and taken care of in different families,
for a month or two at a time.
Poor Saperli had just arrived at his uncle's house when Rudy came.
The uncle was an experienced hunter; he also followed the trade of a
cooper; his wife was a lively little person, with a face like a
bird, eyes like those of an eagle, and a long, hairy throat.
Everything was new to Rudy--the fashion of the dress, the manners, the
employments, and even the language; but the latter his childish ear
would soon learn. He saw also that there was more wealth here, when
compared with his former home at his grandfather's. The rooms were
larger, the walls were adorned with the horns of the chamois, and
brightly polished guns. Over the door hung a painting of the Virgin
Mary, fresh alpine roses and a burning lamp stood near it. Rudy's
uncle was, as we have said, one of the most noted chamois hunters in
the whole district, and also one of the best guides. Rudy soon
became the pet of the house; but there was another pet, an old
hound, blind and lazy, who would never more follow the hunt, well as
he had once done so. But his former good qualities were not forgotten,
and therefore the animal was kept in the family and treated with every
indulgence. Rudy stroked the old hound, but he did not like strangers,
and Rudy was as yet a stranger; he did not, however, long remain so,
he soon endeared himself to every heart, and became like one of the
family.
"We are not very badly off, here in the canton Valais," said his
uncle one day; "we have the chamois, they do not die so fast as the
wild goats, and it is certainly much better here now than in former
times. How highly the old times have been spoken of, but ours is
better. The bag has been opened, and a current of air now blows
through our once confined valley. Something better always makes its
appearance when old, worn-out things fail. "
When his uncle became communicative, he would relate stories of
his youthful days, and farther back still of the warlike times in
which his father had lived. Valais was then, as he expressed it,
only a closed-up bag, quite full of sick people, miserable cretins;
but the French soldiers came, and they were capital doctors, they soon
killed the disease and the sick people, too. The French people knew
how to fight in more ways than one, and the girls knew how to
conquer too; and when he said this the uncle nodded at his wife, who
was a French woman by birth, and laughed. The French could also do
battle on the stones. "It was they who cut a road out of the solid
rock over the Simplon--such a road, that I need only say to a child of
three years old, 'Go down to Italy, you have only to keep in the
high road,' and the child will soon arrive in Italy, if he followed my
directions. "
Then the uncle sang a French song, and cried, "Hurrah! long live
Napoleon Buonaparte. " This was the first time Rudy had ever heard of
France, or of Lyons, that great city on the Rhone where his uncle
had once lived. His uncle said that Rudy, in a very few years, would
become a clever hunter, he had quite a talent for it; he taught the
boy to hold a gun properly, and to load and fire it. In the hunting
season he took him to the hills, and made him drink the warm blood
of the chamois, which is said to prevent the hunter from becoming
giddy; he taught him to know the time when, from the different
mountains, the avalanche is likely to fall, namely, at noontide or
in the evening, from the effects of the sun's rays; he made him
observe the movements of the chamois when he gave a leap, so that he
might fall firmly and lightly on his feet. He told him that when on
the fissures of the rocks he could find no place for his feet, he must
support himself on his elbows, and cling with his legs, and even
lean firmly with his back, for this could be done when necessary. He
told him also that the chamois are very cunning, they place
lookers-out on the watch; but the hunter must be more cunning than
they are, and find them out by the scent.
One day, when Rudy went out hunting with his uncle, he hung a coat
and hat on an alpine staff, and the chamois mistook it for a man, as
they generally do. The mountain path was narrow here; indeed it was
scarcely a path at all, only a kind of shelf, close to the yawning
abyss. The snow that lay upon it was partially thawed, and the
stones crumbled beneath the feet. Every fragment of stone broken off
struck the sides of the rock in its fall, till it rolled into the
depths beneath, and sunk to rest. Upon this shelf Rudy's uncle laid
himself down, and crept forward. At about a hundred paces behind him
stood Rudy, upon the highest point of the rock, watching a great
vulture hovering in the air; with a single stroke of his wing the bird
might easily cast the creeping hunter into the abyss beneath, and make
him his prey. Rudy's uncle had eyes for nothing but the chamois,
who, with its young kid, had just appeared round the edge of the rock.
So Rudy kept his eyes fixed on the bird, he knew well what the great
creature wanted; therefore he stood in readiness to discharge his
gun at the proper moment. Suddenly the chamois made a spring, and
his uncle fired and struck the animal with the deadly bullet; while
the young kid rushed away, as if for a long life he had been
accustomed to danger and practised flight. The large bird, alarmed
at the report of the gun, wheeled off in another direction, and Rudy's
uncle was saved from danger, of which he knew nothing till he was told
of it by the boy.
While they were both in pleasant mood, wending their way
homewards, and the uncle whistling the tune of a song he had learnt in
his young days, they suddenly heard a peculiar sound which seemed to
come from the top of the mountain. They looked up, and saw above them,
on the over-hanging rock, the snow-covering heave and lift itself as a
piece of linen stretched on the ground to dry raises itself when the
wind creeps under it. Smooth as polished marble slabs, the waves of
snow cracked and loosened themselves, and then suddenly, with the
rumbling noise of distant thunder, fell like a foaming cataract into
the abyss. An avalanche had fallen, not upon Rudy and his uncle, but
very near them. Alas, a great deal too near!
"Hold fast, Rudy! " cried his uncle; "hold fast, with all your
might. "
Then Rudy clung with his arms to the trunk of the nearest tree,
while his uncle climbed above him, and held fast by the branches.
The avalanche rolled past them at some distance; but the gust of
wind that followed, like the storm-wings of the avalanche, snapped
asunder the trees and bushes over which it swept, as if they had
been but dry rushes, and threw them about in every direction. The tree
to which Rudy clung was thus overthrown, and Rudy dashed to the
ground. The higher branches were snapped off, and carried away to a
great distance; and among these shattered branches lay Rudy's uncle,
with his skull fractured. When they found him, his hand was still
warm; but it would have been impossible to recognize his face. Rudy
stood by, pale and trembling; it was the first shock of his life,
the first time he had ever felt fear. Late in the evening he
returned home with the fatal news,--to that home which was now to be
so full of sorrow. His uncle's wife uttered not a word, nor shed a
tear, till the corpse was brought in; then her agony burst forth.
The poor cretin crept away to his bed, and nothing was seen of him
during the whole of the following day. Towards evening, however, he
came to Rudy, and said, "Will you write a letter for me? Saperli
cannot write; Saperli can only take the letters to the post. "
"A letter for you! " said Rudy; "who do you wish to write to? "
"To the Lord Christ," he replied.
"What do you mean? " asked Rudy.
Then the poor idiot, as the cretin was often called, looked at
Rudy with a most touching expression in his eyes, clasped his hands,
and said, solemnly and devoutly, "Saperli wants to send a letter to
Jesus Christ, to pray Him to let Saperli die, and not the master of
the house here. "
Rudy pressed his hand, and replied, "A letter would not reach
Him up above; it would not give him back whom we have lost. "
It was not, however, easy for Rudy to convince Saperli of the
impossibility of doing what he wished.
"Now you must work for us," said his foster-mother; and Rudy
very soon became the entire support of the house.
IV. BABETTE
Who was the best marksman in the canton Valais? The chamois knew
well. "Save yourselves from Rudy," they might well say. And who is the
handsomest marksman? "Oh, it is Rudy," said the maidens; but they
did not say, "Save yourselves from Rudy. " Neither did anxious
mothers say so; for he bowed to them as pleasantly as to the young
girls. He was so brave and cheerful. His cheeks were brown, his
teeth white, and his eyes dark and sparkling. He was now a handsome
young man of twenty years. The most icy water could not deter him from
swimming; he could twist and turn like a fish. None could climb like
he, and he clung as firmly to the edges of the rocks as a limpet.
He
had strong muscular power, as could be seen when he leapt from rock to
rock. He had learnt this first from the cat, and more lately from
the chamois. Rudy was considered the best guide over the mountains;
every one had great confidence in him. He might have made a great deal
of money as guide. His uncle had also taught him the trade of a
cooper; but he had no inclination for either; his delight was in
chamois-hunting, which also brought him plenty of money. Rudy would be
a very good match, as people said, if he would not look above his
own station. He was also such a famous partner in dancing, that the
girls often dreamt about him, and one and another thought of him
even when awake.
"He kissed me in the dance," said Annette, the schoolmaster's
daughter, to her dearest friend; but she ought not to have told
this, even to her dearest friend. It is not easy to keep such secrets;
they are like sand in a sieve; they slip out. It was therefore soon
known that Rudy, so brave and so good as he was, had kissed some one
while dancing, and yet he had never kissed her who was dearest to him.
"Ah, ah," said an old hunter, "he has kissed Annette, has he? he
has begun with A, and I suppose he will kiss through the whole
alphabet. "
But a kiss in the dance was all the busy tongues could accuse
him of. He certainly had kissed Annette, but she was not the flower of
his heart.
Down in the valley, near Bex, among the great walnut-trees, by the
side of a little rushing mountain-stream, lived a rich miller. His
dwelling-house was a large building, three storeys high, with little
turrets. The roof was covered with chips, bound together with tin
plates, that glittered in sunshine and in the moonlight. The largest
of the turrets had a weather-cock, representing an apple pierced by
a glittering arrow, in memory of William Tell. The mill was a neat and
well-ordered place, that allowed itself to be sketched and written
about; but the miller's daughter did not permit any to sketch or write
about her. So, at least, Rudy would have said, for her image was
pictured in his heart; her eyes shone in it so brightly, that quite
a flame had been kindled there; and, like all other fires, it had
burst forth so suddenly, that the miller's daughter, the beautiful
Babette, was quite unaware of it. Rudy had never spoken a word to
her on the subject. The miller was rich, and, on that account, Babette
stood very high, and was rather difficult to aspire to. But said
Rudy to himself, "Nothing is too high for a man to reach: he must
climb with confidence in himself, and he will not fail. " He had learnt
this lesson in his youthful home.
It happened once that Rudy had some business to settle at Bex.
It was a long journey at that time, for the railway had not been
opened. From the glaciers of the Rhone, at the foot of the Simplon,
between its ever-changing mountain summits, stretches the valley of
the canton Valais. Through it runs the noble river of the Rhone, which
often overflows its banks, covering fields and highways, and
destroying everything in its course. Near the towns of Sion and St.
Maurice, the valley takes a turn, and bends like an elbow, and
behind St. Maurice becomes so narrow that there is only space enough
for the bed of the river and a narrow carriage-road. An old tower
stands here, as if it were guardian to the canton Valais, which ends
at this point; and from it we can look across the stone bridge to
the toll-house on the other side, where the canton Vaud commences. Not
far from this spot stands the town of Bex, and at every step can be
seen an increase of fruitfulness and verdure. It is like entering a
grove of chestnut and walnut-trees. Here and there the cypress and
pomegranate blossoms peep forth; and it is almost as warm as an
Italian climate. Rudy arrived at Bex, and soon finished the business
which had brought him there, and then walked about the town; but not
even the miller's boy could be seen, nor any one belonging to the
mill, not to mention Babette. This did not please him at all.
Evening came on. The air was filled with the perfume of the wild thyme
and the blossoms of the lime-trees, and the green woods on the
mountains seemed to be covered with a shining veil, blue as the sky.
Over everything reigned a stillness, not of sleep or of death, but
as if Nature were holding her breath, that her image might be
photographed on the blue vault of heaven. Here and there, amidst the
trees of the silent valley, stood poles which supported the wires of
the electric telegraph. Against one of these poles leaned an object so
motionless that it might have been mistaken for the trunk of a tree;
but it was Rudy, standing there as still as at that moment was
everything around him. He was not asleep, neither was he dead; but
just as the various events in the world--matters of momentous
importance to individuals--were flying through the telegraph wires,
without the quiver of a wire or the slightest tone, so, through the
mind of Rudy, thoughts of overwhelming importance were passing,
without an outward sign of emotion. The happiness of his future life
depended upon the decision of his present reflections. His eyes were
fixed on one spot in the distance--a light that twinkled through the
foliage from the parlor of the miller's house, where Babette dwelt.
Rudy stood so still, that it might have been supposed he was
watching for a chamois; but he was in reality like a chamois, who will
stand for a moment, looking as if it were chiselled out of the rock,
and then, if only a stone rolled by, would suddenly bound forward with
a spring, far away from the hunter. And so with Rudy: a sudden roll of
his thoughts roused him from his stillness, and made him bound forward
with determination to act.
"Never despair! " cried he. "A visit to the mill, to say good
evening to the miller, and good evening to little Babette, can do no
harm. No one ever fails who has confidence in himself. If I am to be
Babette's husband, I must see her some time or other. "
Then Rudy laughed joyously, and took courage to go to the mill. He
knew what he wanted; he wanted to marry Babette. The clear water of
the river rolled over its yellow bed, and willows and lime-trees
were reflected in it, as Rudy stepped along the path to the miller's
house. But, as the children sing--
"There was no one at home in the house,
Only a kitten at play. "
The cat standing on the steps put up its back and cried "mew. " But
Rudy had no inclination for this sort of conversation; he passed on,
and knocked at the door. No one heard him, no one opened the door.
"Mew," said the cat again; and had Rudy been still a child, he would
have understood this language, and known that the cat wished to tell
him there was no one at home. So he was obliged to go to the mill
and make inquiries, and there he heard that the miller had gone on a
journey to Interlachen, and taken Babette with him, to the great
shooting festival, which began that morning, and would continue for
eight days, and that people from all the German settlements would be
there.
Poor Rudy! we may well say. It was not a fortunate day for his
visit to Bex. He had just to return the way he came, through St.
Maurice and Sion, to his home in the valley. But he did not despair.
When the sun rose the next morning, his good spirits had returned;
indeed he had never really lost them. "Babette is at Interlachen,"
said Rudy to himself, "many days' journey from here. It is certainly a
long way for any one who takes the high-road, but not so far if he
takes a short cut across the mountain, and that just suits a
chamois-hunter. I have been that way before, for it leads to the
home of my childhood, where, as a little boy, I lived with my
grandfather. And there are shooting matches at Interlachen. I will go,
and try to stand first in the match. Babette will be there, and I
shall be able to make her acquaintance. "
Carrying his light knapsack, which contained his Sunday clothes,
on his back, and with his musket and his game-bag over his shoulder,
Rudy started to take the shortest way across the mountain. Still it
was a great distance. The shooting matches were to commence on that
day, and to continue for a whole week. He had been told also that
the miller and Babette would remain that time with some relatives at
Interlachen. So over the Gemmi Rudy climbed bravely, and determined to
descend the side of the Grindelwald. Bright and joyous were his
feelings as he stepped lightly onwards, inhaling the invigorating
mountain air. The valley sunk as he ascended, the circle of the
horizon expanded. One snow-capped peak after another rose before
him, till the whole of the glittering Alpine range became visible.
Rudy knew each ice-clad peak, and he continued his course towards
the Schreckhorn, with its white powdered stone finger raised high in
the air. At length he had crossed the highest ridges, and before him
lay the green pasture lands sloping down towards the valley, which was
once his home. The buoyancy of the air made his heart light. Hill
and valley were blooming in luxuriant beauty, and his thoughts were
youthful dreams, in which old age or death were out of the question.
Life, power, and enjoyment were in the future, and he felt free and
light as a bird. And the swallows flew round him, as in the days of
his childhood, singing "We and you--you and we. " All was overflowing
with joy. Beneath him lay the meadows, covered with velvety green,
with the murmuring river flowing through them, and dotted here and
there were small wooden houses. He could see the edges of the
glaciers, looking like green glass against the soiled snow, and the
deep chasms beneath the loftiest glacier. The church bells were
ringing, as if to welcome him to his home with their sweet tones.
His heart beat quickly, and for a moment he seemed to have
foregotten Babette, so full were his thoughts of old recollections. He
was, in imagination, once more wandering on the road where, when a
little boy, he, with other children, came to sell their curiously
carved toy houses. Yonder, behind the fir-trees, still stood his
grandfather's house, his mother's father, but strangers dwelt in it
now. Children came running to him, as he had once done, and wished
to sell their wares. One of them offered him an Alpine rose. Rudy took
the rose as a good omen, and thought of Babette. He quickly crossed
the bridge where the two rivers flow into each other. Here he found
a walk over-shadowed with large walnut-trees, and their thick
foliage formed a pleasant shade. Very soon he perceived in the
distance, waving flags, on which glittered a white cross on a red
ground--the standard of the Danes as well as of the Swiss--and
before him lay Interlachen.
"It is really a splendid town, like none other that I have ever
seen," said Rudy to himself. It was indeed a Swiss town in its holiday
dress. Not like the many other towns, crowded with heavy stone houses,
stiff and foreign looking. No; here it seemed as if the wooden
houses on the hills had run into the valley, and placed themselves
in rows and ranks by the side of the clear river, which rushes like an
arrow in its course. The streets were rather irregular, it is true,
but still this added to their picturesque appearance. There was one
street which Rudy thought the prettiest of them all; it had been built
since he had visited the town when a little boy. It seemed to him as
if all the neatest and most curiously carved toy houses which his
grandfather once kept in the large cupboard at home, had been
brought out and placed in this spot, and that they had increased in
size since then, as the old chestnut trees had done. The houses were
called hotels; the woodwork on the windows and balconies was curiously
carved. The roofs were gayly painted, and before each house was a
flower garden, which separated it from the macadamized high-road.
These houses all stood on the same side of the road, so that the
fresh, green meadows, in which were cows grazing, with bells on
their necks, were not hidden. The sound of these bells is often
heard amidst Alpine scenery. These meadows were encircled by lofty
hills, which receded a little in the centre, so that the most
beautifully formed of Swiss mountains--the snow-crowned Jungfrau--could
be distinctly seen glittering in the distance. A number of
elegantly dressed gentlemen and ladies from foreign lands, and
crowds of country people from the neighboring cantons, were
assembled in the town. Each marksman wore the number of hits he had
made twisted in a garland round his hat. Here were music and singing
of all descriptions: hand-organs, trumpets, shouting, and noise. The
houses and bridges were adorned with verses and inscriptions. Flags
and banners were waving. Shot after shot was fired, which was the best
music to Rudy's ears. And amidst all this excitement he quite forgot
Babette, on whose account only he had come. The shooters were
thronging round the target, and Rudy was soon amongst them. But when
he took his turn to fire, he proved himself the best shot, for he
always struck the bull's-eye.
"Who may that young stranger be? " was the inquiry on all sides.
"He speaks French as it is spoken in the Swiss cantons. "
"And makes himself understood very well when he speaks German,"
said some.
"He lived here, when a child, with his grandfather, in a house
on the road to Grindelwald," remarked one of the sportsmen.
And full of life was this young stranger; his eyes sparkled, his
glance was steady, and his arm sure, therefore he always hit the mark.
Good fortune gives courage, and Rudy was always courageous. He soon
had a circle of friends gathered round him. Every one noticed him, and
did him homage. Babette had quite vanished from his thoughts, when
he was struck on the shoulder by a heavy hand, and a deep voice said
to him in French, "You are from the canton Valais. "
Rudy turned round, and beheld a man with a ruddy, pleasant face,
and a stout figure. It was the rich miller from Bex. His broad, portly
person, hid the slender, lovely Babette; but she came forward and
glanced at him with her bright, dark eyes. The rich miller was very
much flattered at the thought that the young man, who was acknowledged
to be the best shot, and was so praised by every one, should be from
his own canton. Now was Rudy really fortunate: he had travelled all
this way to this place, and those he had forgotten were now come to
seek him. When country people go far from home, they often meet with
those they know, and improve their acquaintance. Rudy, by his
shooting, had gained the first place in the shooting-match, just as
the miller at home at Bex stood first, because of his money and his
mill. So the two men shook hands, which they had never done before.
Babette, too, held out her hand to Rudy frankly, and he pressed it
in his, and looked at her so earnestly, that she blushed deeply. The
miller talked of the long journey they had travelled, and of the
many towns they had seen. It was his opinion that he had really made
as great a journey as if he had travelled in a steamship, a railway
carriage, or a post-chaise.
"I came by a much shorter way," said Rudy; "I came over the
mountains. There is no road so high that a man may not venture upon
it. "
"Ah, yes; and break your neck," said the miller; "and you look
like one who will break his neck some day, you are so daring. "
"Oh, nothing ever happens to a man if he has confidence in
himself," replied Rudy.
The miller's relations at Interlachen, with whom the miller and
Babette were staying, invited Rudy to visit them, when they found he
came from the same canton as the miller. It was a most pleasant visit.
Good fortune seemed to follow him, as it does those who think and
act for themselves, and who remember the proverb, "Nuts are given to
us, but they are not cracked for us. " And Rudy was treated by the
miller's relations almost like one of the family, and glasses of
wine were poured out to drink to the welfare of the best shooter.
Babette clinked glasses with Rudy, and he returned thanks for the
toast. In the evening they all took a delightful walk under the
walnut-trees, in front of the stately hotels; there were so many
people, and such crowding, that Rudy was obliged to offer his arm to
Babette. Then he told her how happy it made him to meet people from
the canton Vaud,--for Vaud and Valais were neighboring cantons. He
spoke of this pleasure so heartily that Babette could not resist
giving his arm a slight squeeze; and so they walked on together, and
talked and chatted like old acquaintances. Rudy felt inclined to laugh
sometimes at the absurd dress and walk of the foreign ladies; but
Babette did not wish to make fun of them, for she knew there must be
some good, excellent people amongst them; she, herself, had a
godmother, who was a high-born English lady. Eighteen years before,
when Babette was christened, this lady was staying at Bex, and she
stood godmother for her, and gave her the valuable brooch she now wore
in her bosom.
Her godmother had twice written to her, and this year she was
expected to visit Interlachen with her two daughters; "but they are
old-maids," added Babette, who was only eighteen: "they are nearly
thirty. " Her sweet little mouth was never still a moment, and all that
she said sounded in Rudy's ears as matters of the greatest importance,
and at last he told her what he was longing to tell. How often he
had been at Bex, how well he knew the mill, and how often he had
seen Babette, when most likely she had not noticed him; and lastly,
that full of many thoughts which he could not tell her, he had been to
the mill on the evening when she and her father has started on their
long journey, but not too far for him to find a way to overtake
them. He told her all this, and a great deal more; he told her how
much he could endure for her; and that it was to see her, and not
the shooting-match, which had brought him to Interlachen. Babette
became quite silent after hearing all this; it was almost too much,
and it troubled her.
And while they thus wandered on, the sun sunk behind the lofty
mountains. The Jungfrau stood out in brightness and splendor, as a
back-ground to the green woods of the surrounding hills. Every one
stood still to look at the beautiful sight, Rudy and Babette among
them.
"Nothing can be more beautiful than this," said Babette.
"Nothing! " replied Rudy, looking at Babette.
"To-morrow I must return home," remarked Rudy a few minutes
afterwards.
"Come and visit us at Bex," whispered Babette; "my father will
be pleased to see you. "
V. ON THE WAY HOME
Oh, what a number of things Rudy had to carry over the
mountains, when he set out to return home! He had three silver cups,
two handsome pistols, and a silver coffee-pot. This latter would be
useful when he began housekeeping. But all these were not the heaviest
weight he had to bear; something mightier and more important he
carried with him in his heart, over the high mountains, as he
journeyed homeward.
The weather was dismally dark, and inclined to rain; the clouds
hung low, like a mourning veil on the tops of the mountains, and
shrouded their glittering peaks. In the woods could be heard the sound
of the axe and the heavy fall of the trunks of the trees, as they
rolled down the slopes of the mountains. When seen from the heights,
the trunks of these trees looked like slender stems; but on a nearer
inspection they were found to be large and strong enough for the masts
of a ship. The river murmured monotonously, the wind whistled, and the
clouds sailed along hurriedly.
Suddenly there appeared, close by Rudy's side, a young maiden;
he had not noticed her till she came quite near to him. She was also
going to ascend the mountain. The maiden's eyes shone with an
unearthly power, which obliged you to look into them; they were
strange eyes,--clear, deep, and unfathomable.
"Hast thou a lover? " asked Rudy; all his thoughts were naturally
on love just then.
"I have none," answered the maiden, with a laugh; it was as if she
had not spoken the truth.
"Do not let us go such a long way round," said she. "We must
keep to the left; it is much shorter. "
"Ah, yes," he replied; "and fall into some crevasse. Do you
pretend to be a guide, and not know the road better than that? "
"I know every step of the way," said she; "and my thoughts are
collected, while yours are down in the valley yonder. We should
think of the Ice Maiden while we are up here; men say she is not
kind to their race. "
"I fear her not," said Rudy. "She could not keep me when I was a
child; I will not give myself up to her now I am a man. "
Darkness came on, the rain fell, and then it began to snow, and
the whiteness dazzled the eyes.
"Give me your hand," said the maiden; "I will help you to
mount. " And he felt the touch of her icy fingers.
"You help me," cried Rudy; "I do not yet require a woman to help
me to climb. " And he stepped quickly forwards away from her.
The drifting snow-shower fell like a veil between them, the wind
whistled, and behind him he could hear the maiden laughing and
singing, and the sound was most strange to hear.
"It certainly must be a spectre or a servant of the Ice Maiden,"
thought Rudy, who had heard such things talked about when he was a
little boy, and had stayed all night on the mountain with the guides.
The snow fell thicker than ever, the clouds lay beneath him; he
looked back, there was no one to be seen, but he heard sounds of
mocking laughter, which were not those of a human voice.
