The ice-maiden;

-

m

J

CHILDREN'S BOOK
COLLECTION

LIBRARY OF THE
;£ UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES

A, r

THE ICE-MAIDEN

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

TRANSLATED FEOM THE DANISH BY MES. BUSHBY

•WITH DRAWINGS BY ZWECKER, ENGRAVED BY PEARSON

LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET

PUBLISHES, IN ORDINARY TO HER MAJESTY

1863

NEW-STREET SQTJABE

TO
HER ROYAL HIGHNESS

THE PEINCESS OF WALES

THE
ENGLISH VEESION OF ' IISJOMFEUEN '

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED

BY
HEB ROYAL HIGHNESS's

MOST DEVOTED HUMBLE SERVANT,

THE AUTHOR.

COPENHAGEN : October 1863.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

THE ICE-MAIDEN . 1

THE BUTTERFLY . . . 129

PSYCHE . ... 187

THE SNAIL AND THE EOSEBUSH . 167

THE ICE -MAIDEN.

LITTLE EUDY.

ET us pay a visit to Swit-
zerland. Let us look
around us in that magni-
ficent mountainous coun-
try, where the woods creep
up the sides of the pre-
cipitous walls of rock ; let us ascend
to the dazzling snow-fields above,
and descend again to the green val-
leys beneath, where the rivers and
the brooks foam along as if they
were afraid that they should not fast
enough reach the ocean and be lost
in its immensity. The sun's burning
rays shine on the deep dales, and
they also shine upon the heavy
masses of snow above, so that the
ice-blocks which have been accumulating for years melt

THE ICE-MAIDEX.

and become rolling avalanches, piled-up glaciers. Two
such lie in the broad mountain clefts under Schreckhorn
and Wetterhorn, near the little mountain town of Grin-
delwald. They are wonderful to behold, and therefore
in summer-time many strangers come here from every
foreign land. They come over the lofty snow-covered
hills ; they come through the deep valleys, and from
thence for hours and hours they must mount ; and
always, as they ascend, the valleys seem to become
deeper and deeper, until they appear as if viewed
from a balloon high up in the air. The clouds often
hang like thick heavy curtains of smoke around the
lofty mountain peaks, while down in the valley, where
the many brown wooden houses lie scattered about, a
bright ray of the sun may be shining, and bringing into
strong relief some brilliant patch of green, making it
look as if it were transparent. The waters foam and
roar as they rush along below — they murmur and tinkle
above. They look, up there, like silver ribands streaming
down over the rocks.

On both sides of the ascending road lie wooden
houses. Each house has its little potato garden, and

LITTLE RUDY.

this is a necessity ; for within doors yonder are many
mouths — the houses are crammed with children — and
children often waste their food. From all the cottages
they sally forth in swarms, and throng round travellers,
whether these are on foot or in carriages. The whole
troop of children are little merchants — they ofier for
sale charming toy wooden houses, models of the dwel-
lings one sees here among the mountains. Whether
it be fair weather or foul, the crowds of children issue
forth with their wares.

Some twenty years ago occasionally stood here,
but always at a short distance from the other children,
a little boy who was also ready to engage in trade.
He stood with an earnest, grave expression of counte-
nance, and holding his deal box fast with both his
hands, as if he were afraid of losing it. The very
earnestness of his face, and his being such a little fellow,
caused him to be remarked and called forward, so that
he often sold the most — he did not himself know why.
Higher up among the hills lived his maternal grand-
father, who cut out the neat pretty houses, and in a room
up yonder was an old press full of all sorts of things —

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

nut-crackers, knives, forks, boxes with prettily carved
leaf-work, and springing chamois : there was everything
to please a child's eye. But the little Rudy, as he was
called, looked with greater interest and longing at the

The Young Goatherd.

old fire-arms and other weapons which were hung up
under the beams of the roof. ' He should have them
some day,' said his grandfather, ' when he was big enough
and strong enough to make use of them.' Young as the

LITTLE RUDY.

boy was, he was set to take care of the goats ; and he
who had to clamber after them was obliged to keep a
good look-out and to be a good climber. And Rudy was
an excellent climber ; he even went higher than the
goats, for he was fond of seeking for birds' nests up
among the tops of the trees. Bold and adventurous he
was, but no one ever saw him smile, except when he
stood near the roaring cataract or heard the thunder of
a rolling avalanche. He never played with the other
children — he never went near them, except when his
grandfather sent him down to sell the things he made.
And Eudy did not care much for that; he preferred
scrambling about among the mountains, or sitting at
home with his grandfather, and hearing him teh1 stories
of olden days, and of the people near by at Meyringen,
from whence he came. ' This tribe had not been settled
there from the earliest ages of the world,' he said ; ' they
were wanderers from afar; they had come from the
distant North, where their race still dwelt, and were
called " Swedes." ' This was a great deal for Eudy to
learn, but he learned more from other sources, and these
were the animals domiciled in the house. One was a

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

large dog, Ajola, a legacy from Eudy's father — the other
a tom-cat. Eudy had much for which to thank the
latter — he had taught him to climb.

' Come out upon the roof with me ! ' the cat had said,
distinctly and intelligibly ; for when one is a young child,
and can scarcely speak, fowls and ducks, cats and dogs,
are almost as easily understood as the language that
fathers and mothers use. One must be very little
indeed then, however ; it is the time when grandpapa's
stick neighs, and becomes a horse with head, legs, and
tail.

Some children retain these infantine thoughts longer
than others ; and of these it is said that they are very
backward, exceedingly stupid children — people say so
much !

' Come out upon the roof with me, little Eudy ! ' was
one of the first things the cat said, arid Eudy understood
him.

' It is all nonsense to fancy one must fall down ; you
won't fall unless you are afraid. Come ! set one of your
paws here, the other there, and take care of yourself
with the rest of your paws ! Keep a sharp look-out, and

LITTLE RUDY.

be active in your limbs ! If there be a hole, spring over
it, and keep a firm footing as I do.'

And so also did little Eudy ; often and often he sat on
the shelving roof of the house with the cat, often too on
the tops of the trees ; but he sat also higher up among
the towering rocks, which the cat did not frequent.

' Higher I higher ! ' said the trees and the bushes.
' Do you not see how we climb up— to what height we
go, and how fast we hold on, even among the narrowest
points of rock ? '

And Eudy gained the top of the hill earlier than
the sun had gained it; and there he took his morning
draught, the fresh invigorating mountain air — that drink
which only OUR LORD can prepare, and which mankind
pronounces to be the early fragrance from the mountain
herbs and the wild thyme and mint in the valley. All
that is heavy the overhanging clouds absorb within them-
selves, and the winds carry them over the pine woods,
while the spirit of fragrance becomes air — light and
fresh ; and this was Eudy's morning draught.

The sunbeams — those daughters of the sun, who bring
blessings with them — kissed his cheeks ; and dizziness

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

stood near on the watch, but dared not approach him ;
and the swallows from his grandfather's house beneath
(there were not less than seven nests) flew up to him and
the goats, singing, ' We and you, and you and we ! '
They brought him greetings from his home, even from
the two hens, the only birds in the establishment, though
Eudy was not intimate with them.

Young as he was, he had travelled, and travelled a
good deal for such a little fellow. He was born in the
Canton of Valais, and brought from thence over the hills.
He had visited on foot Staubbach, that seems like a
silver veil to flutter before the snow-clad, glittering white
mountain Jungfrau. And he had been at the great
glaciers near Grindelwald, but that was connected with
a sad event; his mother had found her death there, and
there, his grandfather used to say, ' little Eudy had got all
his childish merriment knocked out of him.' Before
the child was a year old, 'he laughed more than he
cried,' his mother had written ; but from the time that
he fell into the crevasse in the ice, his disposition had
entirely changed. The grandfather did not say much
about this in general, but the whole hill knew the fact.

LITTLE RUDY.

Eudy's father had been a postilion, and the large dog
who now shared Eudy's home had always accompanied
him in his journeys over the Simplon down to the Lake of
Geneva. Eudy's kindred on his father's side lived in the
valley of the Ehone, in the Canton Valais ; his uncle was
a celebrated chamois-hunter, and a well-known Alpine
guide. Eudy was not more than a year old when he lost
his father ; and his mother was anxious to return with
her child to her own family in the Bernese Oberland.
Her father dwelt at the distance of a few hours' journey
from Grindelwald ; he was a carver in wood, and he
made so much by this that he was very well off.

Carrying her infant in her arms, she set out homewards
in the month of June, in company with two chamois-
hunters, over the Gemmi to reach Grindelwald. They
had accomplished the greater portion of the journey, had
crossed the highest ridges to the snow-fields, and could
already see her native valley with all its well-known
scattered brown cottages ; they had now only the labour
of going over the upper part of one great glacier. The
snow had recently fallen, and concealed a crevasse — not
one so deep as to reach to the abyss below where the

10 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

water foamed along, but deeper far than the height of
any human being. The young woman who was carrying
her infant slipped, sank in, and suddenly disappeared;
not a shriek, not a groan was heard — nothing but the
crying of a little child. Upwards of an hour elapsed
before her two companions were able to obtain from
the nearest house ropes and poles to assist them in
extricating her; and it was with much difficulty and
labour that they brought up from the crevasse two
dead bodies, as they thought. Every means of restoring
animation was employed, and they were successful in
recalling the child to life, but not the mother ; and so
the old grandfather received into his house, not a
daughter, but a daughter's son — the little one ' who
laughed more than he cried.' But a change seemed to
have come over him since he had been in the glacier-
spalten — in the cold underground ice-world, where the
souls of the condemned are imprisoned until Doom's day,
as the Swiss peasants assert.

Not unlike a rushing stream, frozen and pressed into
blocks of green crystal, lies the glacier, one great mass
of ice balanced upon another ; in the depths beneath

LITTLE RUDY. 11

tears along the accumulating stream of melted ice and
snow ; deep hollows, immense crevasses, yawn within it.
A wondrous palace of crystal it is, and in it dwells
the Ice-maiden — the queen of the glaciers. She, the
slayer, the crusher, is half the mighty ruler of the rivers,
half a child of the air : therefore she is able to soar to
the highest haunts of the chamois, to the loftiest peaks
of the snow-covered hills, where the boldest mountaineer
has to' cut footsteps for himself in the ice ; she sails on
the slightest sprig of the pine-tree over the raging tor-
rents below, and bounds lightly from one mass of ice to
another, with her long snow-white hair fluttering about
her, and her bluish-green robe shining like the water in
the deep Swiss lakes.

'To crush — to hold fast — such power is mine!' she
cries ; ' yet a beautiful boy was snatched from me — a boy
whom I had kissed, but not kissed to death. He is again
among mankind ; he tends the goats upon the mountain
heights ; he is always climbing higher and higher still,
away, away from other human beings, but not from me !
He is mine — I wait for him ! '

And she commanded Vertigo to undertake the mission.

12 THE ICE-:ttAIDEN.

It was in summer-time ; the Ice-maiden was melting
in the green valley where the wild mint grew, and
Vertigo mounted and dived. Vertigo has several sisters,
quite a flock of them, and the Ice-maiden selected the
strongest among the many who exercise their power
within doors and without — those who sit on the banis-
ters of steep staircases and the outer rails of lofty towers,
who bound like squirrels along the mountain ridges, and,
springing thence, tread the air as the swimmer treads
the water, and lure their victims onwards, down to the
abyss beneath.

Vertigo and the Ice-maiden both grasp after mankind,
as the polypus grasps after all that comes within its
reach. Vertigo was to seize Eudy.

' Seize him, indeed ! ' cried Vertigo ; ' I cannot do it !
That good-for-nothing cat has taught him its art. Yon
child of the human race possesses a power within him-
self which keeps me at a distance. I cannot reach the
little urchin when he hangs from the branches out over
the depths below, or I would willingly loosen his hold,
and send him whirling down through the air. But I
cannot.'

LITTLE RUDY. 13

' We must seize him, though ! ' said the Ice-maiden,
' either you or I ! I will — I will ! '

' No — no ! ' broke upon the air, like a mountain echo
of the church bells' peal ; but it was a whisper, it was a
song, it was the liquid tones of a chorus from other
spirits of Nature — mild, soft, and loving, the daughters
of the rays of the sun. They station themselves every
evening in a circle upon the mountain peaks, and spread
out their rose-tinted wings, which, as the sun sinks,
become redder and redder, until the lofty Alps seem all
in a blaze. Men call this the Alpine glow. When the
sun has sunk, they retire within the white snow on the
crests of the hills, and sleep there until sunrise, when
they come forth again. Much do they love flowers,
butterflies, and mankind ; and among the latter they
had taken a great fancy for little Eudy.

4 You shall not imprison him — you shall not get him ! '
they sang.

' Greater and stronger have I seized and imprisoned,'
said the Ice-maiden.

Then sang the daughters of the sun of the wanderer
whose hat the whirlwind tore from his head, and carried

14 THE ICE-:NIAIDEX.

away in its stormy flight. The wind could take his cap,
but not the man himself — no, it could make him tremble
with its violence, but it could not sweep him away. ' The
human race is stronger and more ethereal even than we
are ; they alone may mount higher than even the sun,
our parent. They know the magic words that can rule
the wind and the waves so that they are compelled to
obey and to serve them. You loosen the heavy oppres-
sive weight, and they soar upwards.'

Thus sang the sweet tones of the bell-like chorus.

And every morning the sun's rays shone through the
one little window in the grandfather's house upon the
quiet child. The daughters of the rays of the sun kissed
him — they wished to thaw, to obliterate the ice-kiss that
the queenly maiden of the glaciers had given him when,
in his dead mother's lap, he lay in the deep crevasse of
ice from which almost as by a miracle he had been
rescued.

THE JOUENEY TO THE NEW HOME.

UDY was now eight years of age.
His father's brother, who lived in
the valley of the Ehone, on the
other side of the mountain, wished
to have the boy, as he could be
better educated and taught to do
for himself there ; so also thought
the grandfather, and he therefore
agreed to part with him.

The time for Eudy's departure
drew nigh. There were many more
to take leave of than only his grand-
father. First there was Ajola, the
old dog.

'Your father was the postilion, and
I was the postilion's dog,' said Ajola.
' We have often journeyed up and down,
and I know both dogs and men on both sides of the

16 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

mountains. It has not been niy habit to speak much,
but now that we shall have so short a time for conver-
sation, I will say a little more than usual, and will relate
to you something upon which I have ruminated a great
deal. I cannot understand it, nor can you ; but that is
of no consequence. But I have gathered this from
it — that the good things of this world are not dealt
out equally either to dogs or to mankind ; all are not
born to he in laps or to drink milk. I have never been
accustomed to such indulgences. But I have seen a
whelp of a little dog travelling in the inside of a post-
chaise, occupying a man's or a woman's seat, and the lady
to whom, he belonged, or whom he governed, carried a
bottle of milk, from which she helped him ; she also
offered him sponge-cakes, but he would not condescend
to eat them ; he only sniffed at them, so she ate them
herself. I was running in the sun by the side of the
carriage, as hungry as a dog could be, but / had only to
chew the cud of bitter reflection. Things were not so
justly meted out as they might have been — but when
are they? May you come to drive in carriages,
and lie in fortune's lap ; but you can't bring all this

THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 17

about yourself. / never could either by barking or
growling.'

This was Ajola's discourse ; and Eudy threw his arms
round his neck and kissed him on his wet mouth ; and
then he caught up the cat in his arms, but the animal
was angry at this, and exclaimed, ' You are getting too
strong for me, but I will not use my claws against you.
Scramble away over the mountains — I have taught you
how to do so ; never think of falling, but hold fast, have
no fear, and you will be safe enough.'

And the cat sprang down and ran off, for he did not
wish Eudy to see how sorry he was.

The hens hopped upon the floor ; one of them had
lost her tail, for a traveller, who chose to play the
sportsman, had shot off her tail, mistaking the poor
fowl for a bird of prey.

' Eudy is going over the hills,' murmured one of the
hens.

' He is in a hurry,' said the other, ' and I do n't like
leave-takings ; ' and they both hopped out.

The goats also bleated their farewells, and very sorry
they were.

18 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

Just at that time there were two active guides about
to cross the mountains; they proposed descending the
other side of the Gemini, and Eudy was to accompany
them on foot. It was a long and laborious journey for
such a little fellow, but he had a good deal of strength,
and had courage that was indomitable.

The swallows flew a little way with him, and sang to
him, ' We and you, and you and we ! '

The travellers' path led across the rushing Lutschine,
which in numerous small streams falls from the dark clefts
of the Grindelwald glaciers. The trunks of fallen trees
and fragments of rock serve here as bridges. They had
soon passed the thicket of alders, and commenced to
ascend the mountain, close to where the glaciers had
loosened themselves from the side of the hill ; and they
went upon the glacier over the blocks of ice, and round
them.

Eudy crept here, and walked there ; his eyes sparkling
with joy, as he firmly placed his iron- tipped mountain
shoe wherever he could find footing for it. The small
patches of black earth, which the mountain torrents had
cast upon the glacier, imparted to it a burned appearance,

TPIE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 19

but still the bluish-green, glass-like ice shone out visibly.
They had to go round the little pools which were dammed
up, as it were, amidst detached masses of ice; and in
this circuitous route they approached an immense stone,
which lay rocking on the edge of a crevasse in the ice.
The stone lost its equipoise, toppled over, and rolled
down; and the echo of its thundering fall resounded
faintly from the glacier's deep abyss, far — far beneath.

Upwards, always upwards, they journeyed on; the
glacier itself stretched upwards, like a continued stream
of masses of ice piled up in wild confusion, amidst bare
and rugged rocks. Eudy remembered for a moment
what had been told him — that he, with his mother, had
lain buried in one of these cold mysterious fissures ; but
he. soon threw off such gloomy thoughts, and only looked
upon the tale as one among the many fables he had heard.
Once or twice, when the men with whom he was travelling
thought that it was rather difficult for so little a boy to
mount up, they held out their hands to help him ; but
he never needed any assistance, and he stood upon the
glacier as securely as if he had been a chamois itself.

Now they came upon rocky ground, sometimes amidst

20 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

mossy stones, sometimes amidst low pine-trees, and again
out upon the green pastures — always changing, always
new. Around them towered lofty snow-clad mountains,
those of which every child in the neighbourhood knows
the names — Jungfrau, the Monk, and Eiger.

Eudy had never before been so far from his home —
never before beheld the wide-spreading ocean of snow
that lay with its immovable billows of ice, from which
the wind occasionally swept little clouds of powdery
snow, as it sweeps the scum from the waves of the sea.
Glacier stretched close to glacier — one might have said
they were hand in hand ; and each is a crystal palace
belonging to the Ice-maiden, whose pleasure and occupa-
tion it is to seize and imprison her victims.

The sun was shining warmly, and the snow dazzled
the eyes as if it had been strewn with flashing pale-blue
diamond sparks. Innumerable insects, especially butter-
flies and bees, lay dead in masses on the snow ; they had
winged their way too high, or else the wind had carried
them upwards to the regions, for them, of cold and death.
Around Wetterhorn hung what might be likened to a
large tuft of very fine dark wool, a threatening cloud ; it

THE JOUENEY TO THE NEW HOME. 21

sank, bulging out with what it had concealed in itself — a
fohn,* fearfully violent in its might when it should break
loose.

The whole of this journey — the night quarters above
— the wild track — the mountain clefts where the water,
during an incalculably long period of time, had pene-
trated through the blocks of stone — made an indelible
impression upon little Eudy's mind.

A forsaken stone building, beyond the sea of snow,
gave the travellers shelter for the night. Here they
found some charcoal and branches of pine-trees. A fire
was soon kindled, couches of some kind were arranged
as well as they could be, and the men placed themselves
near the blazing fire, took out their tobacco, and began
to drink the warm spiced beverage they had prepared for
themselves, nor did they forget to give some to Eudy.

The conversation fell upon the mysterious beings who
haunt the Alpine land : upon the strange gigantic snakes
in the deep lakes — the night-folks — the spectre host, that
carry sleepers off through the air to the wonderful, almost

* Fohn, a humid south wind on the Swiss mountains and lakes, the
forerunner of a storm. — TRANSLATOR.

22

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

floating town of Venice — the wild herdsman, who drives
his black sheep over the green pastures ; if these had
not been seen, the sound of their bells had undoubtedly
been heard, and the frightful noise made by the phantom
herds.

Rudy and the Gossips.

Eudy listened with intense curiosity to these super-
stitious tales, but without any fear, for that he did not
know ; and while he listened, he fancied that he heard
the uproar of the wild spectral herd. Yes ! It became

THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME. 23

more and more distinct; the men heard it too. They
were awed into silence; and as they hearkened to the
unearthly noise, they whispered to Eudy that he must
not sleep.

It was a fdhn that had burst forth — that violent tem-
pestuous wind which issues downwards from the moun-
tains into the valley beneath, and in its fuiy snaps
large trees as if they were but reeds, and carries the
wooden houses from one bank of a river to the other as
we would move men on a chess-board.

After an hour had elapsed, Eudy was told that it
was all over, and he might now go to sleep safely ; and,
weary with his long walk, he did sleep, as if in duty
bound to do so.

At a very early hour in the morning, the party set ofi
again. The sun that day lighted up for Eudy new
mountains, new glaciers, and new snow-fields. They had
entered the Canton Valais, and were upon the other side
of the ridge of hills seen from Grindelwald, yet still far
from his new home.

Other mountain clefts, other pastures, other woods,
and other hilly paths unfolded themselves ; other houses,

24 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

and other people too, Rudy saw. But what kind of
human beings were these? The outcasts of fate they
were, with frightful, disgusting, yellowish faces, and necks
of which the hideous flesh hung down like bags. They
were the cretins — poor diseased wretches, dragging them-
selves along, and looking with stupid lustreless eyes upon
the strangers who crossed their path — the women even
more disgusting than the men. Were such the persons
who surrounded his new home?

THE UNCLE.

N his uncle's house, when
Eudy arrived there, he
saw, and he thanked
God for it, people such
as he had been accus-
tomed to see. There
was only one cretin
there, a poor idiotic lad : one of
those unfortunate beings who, in
their poverty — in fact, in their
utter destitution — go by turns to
different families, and remain a
month or two in each house.
Poor Saperli happened to be in
his uncle's house when Eudy
arrived.

The uncle was a bold and
experienced hunter, and was also a cooper by trade ;

26 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

his wife a lively little woman, with a face something like
that of a bird, eyes like those of an eagle, and a long
skinny throat.

Everything was new to Eudy — the dress, customs,
employments — even the language itself; but his childish
ear would soon learn to understand that. The contrast
between his home at his grandfather's and his uncle's
abode was very favourable to the latter. The house was
larger ; the walls were adorned by horns of the chamois
and brightly-polished guns ; a painting of the Virgin Mary
hung over the door, and fresh Alpine roses, and a lamp
that was kept always burning, were placed before it.

His uncle, as has been told, was one of the most
renowned chamois-hunters of the district, and was also
one of the best and most experienced of the guides.

Eudy became the pet of the house ; but there was
another pet as well — a blind, lazy old hound, who could
no longer be of any use ; but he had been useful, and
the worth of the animal in his earlier days was re-
membered, and he therefore now lived as one of the
family, and had every comfort. Eudy patted the dog,
but the animal did not like strangers, and as yet Eudy

THE UNCLE.

was a stranger ; but he soon won every heart, and be-
came as one of themselves.

' Things do n't go so badly in Canton Valais,' said his
uncle. ' We have plenty of chamois ; they do not die off
so fast as the wild he-goats; matters are much better
now-a-days than in the old times, although they are so
bepraised. A hole is burst in the bag, and we have a
current of air now in our confined valley. Something
better always starts up when antiquated things are done
away with.'

The uncle became quite chatty, and discoursed to the
boy of the events of his own boyhood and those of his
father. Valais was then, as he called it, only a receptacle
for sick people — miserable cretins ; ' but the French
soldiers came, and they made capital doctors ; they soon
killed the disease, and the patients with it. They know
how to strike — ay, how to strike in many ways — and
the girls could smite too ! ' and thereupon the uncle nod-
ded to his wife, who was of French descent, and laughed.
'The French could split solid stones if they chose. It
was they who cut out of the rocks the road over the
Simplori — yes, cut such a road that I could say to a child

28 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

of three years of age, Go down to Italy ! You have but
to keep to the high road, and you find yourself there.'
The good man then sang a French romance, and wound
up by shouting ' hurra ! ' for Napoleon Bonaparte.

It was the first time that Eudy had ever heard of
France, and he was interested in hearing of it, especially
Lyons, that great city on the river Ehone, where his
uncle had been.

The uncle prophesied that Eudy would become, in
a few years, a smart chamois-hunter, as he had quite a
talent for it. He taught the boy to hold, load, and fire
a gun ; he took him up with him, in the hunting season,
among the hills, and made him drink of the warm
chamois' blood, to ward off giddiness from the hunter ;
he taught him to know the time when, upon the different
sides of the mountains, avalanches were about to fall,
at mid-day or in the evening, whenever the sun's rays
took effect ; he taught him to notice the movements of
the chamois, and learn their spring, so that he might
alight on his feet and stand firmly ; and told him that if
on the fissures of the rock there was no footing, he must
support himself by his elbows, and exert the muscles of

THE UNCLE.

his thighs and the calves of his legs to hold on fast.
Even the neck could be made of use, if necessary.

The chamois are cunning, and place outposts on the
watch ; but the hunter must be more cunning, and scent

them out. Sometimes he might cheat them by hanging
up his hat and coat on an Alpine staff, and the chamois
would mistake the coat for the man. This trick the uncle
played one day when he was out hunting with Eudy.

30 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

The mountain pass was narrow; indeed, there was
scarcely a path at all, scarcely more than a slight cornice
close to the yawning abyss. The snow that lay there
was partially thawed, and the stones crumbled away
whenever they were trod on. So the uncle laid himself
down his full length, and crept forward. Every fragment
of stone that broke off, fell, rolling and knocking from
one side of the rocky wall to another, until it sank to
rest in the dark depths below. About a hundred paces
behind his uncle stood Eudy, upon the verge of the last
point of solid rock, and as he stood, he saw careering
through the air, and hovering just over his uncle, an
immense lammergeier, which, with the tremendous stroke
of its wing, would speedily cast the creeping worm into
the abyss beneath, there to prey upon his carcase.

The uncle had eyes for nothing but the chamois,
which, with its young kid, had appeared on the other
side of the crevasse. Eudy was watching the bird ; well
did he know what was its aim, and therefore he kept his
hand on the gun to fire the moment it might be neces-
sary. Just then the chamois made a bound upwards ;
Eudy's uncle fired, and the animal was hit by the deadly

THE UXCLE. 31

bullet, but the kid escaped as cleverly as if it had had a
long life's experience in danger and flight. The enor-
mous bird, frightened by the loud report, wheeled off in
another direction ; and the uncle was freed from a danger
of which he was quite unconscious until he was told of it
by Eudy.

As in high good-humour they were wending their
way homewards, and the uncle was humming an air he
remembered from his childish days, they suddenly heard
a peculiar noise, which seemed to come from no great
distance. They looked round, on both sides — they looked
upwards ; and there, in the heights above, on the sloping
verge of the mountain, the heavy covering of snow was
lifted up, and it heaved as a sheet of linen stretched out
heaves when the wind creeps under it. The lofty mass
cracked as if it had been a marble slab — it broke, and,
resolving itself into a foaming cataract, came rushing
down with a rumbling noise like that of distant thunder.
It was an avalanche that had fallen, not indeed over
Eudy and his uncle, but near them — ah1 too near !

1 Hold fast, Eudy — hold fast with all your might ! '
cried his uncle.

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

And Eudy threw his arms round the trunk of a tree
that was close by, while his uncle climbed above him and
held fast to the branches of the tree. The avalanche
rolled past at a little distance from them, but the gust
of wind that swept like the tail of a hurricane after it,
rattled around the trees and bushes, snapped them asun-
der as if they had been but dry rushes, and cast them
down in ah1 directions. Eudy was dashed to the ground,
for the trunk of the tree to which he had clung was thus
overthrown ; the upper part was flung to a great distance.
There, amidst the shattered branches, lay his poor uncle,
with his skull fractured ! His hand was still warm, but
it would have been impossible to recognise his face.
Eudy stood pale and trembling ; it was the first shock
in his young life — the first moment he had ever felt
terror.

Late in the evening he reached his home with the fatal
tidings — his home which was now to be the abode of
sorrow. The bereaved wife stood like a statue — she did
not utter a word — she did not shed a tear ; and it was
not until the corpse was brought in that her grief found
its natural vent. The poor cretin stole away to his bed,

THE UNCLE. 33

and nothing was seen of him during the whole of the
next day ; towards evening he came to Kudy.

4 Will you write a letter for me ? ' he asked. ' Saperli
cannot write — Saperli can only go down to the post-
office with the letter.'

' A letter for you ? ' exclaimed Eudy ; ' and to
whom ? '

' To our Lord Christ ! '

' Whom do you mean ? '

And the half-idiot, as the cretin was called, looked
with a most touching expression at Eudy, clasped his
hands, and said solemnly and reverentially —

' Jesus Christ ! Saperli would send Him a letter to
pray of Him that Saperli may lie dead, and not the good
master of the house here.'

And Eudy took his hand and wrung it. ' That letter
would not reach up yonder — that letter would not restore
to us him we have lost.'

But Eudy found it very difficult to convince Saperli of
the impossibility of his wishes.

' Now you must be the support of the house,' said his
aunt to him ; and Eudy became such.

BABETTE.

HO is the best marksman in
the Canton Valais ? The cha-
mois well knew — ' Save your-
selves from Eudy ! ' they might
have said. And ' who is the
handsomest marksman? ' ' Oh !
it is Eudy ! ' said the girls.
But they did not add, ' Save
yourselves from Eudy ;' neither
did the sober mothers say so,
for he bowed as politely to
them as to the young girls.
He was so brave and so joyous,
Ms cheeks so brown, his teeth
so white, his dark eyes so spark-
ling. A handsome young man
he was, and only twenty years
of a£e. The most ice-chill water never seemed too cold

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

for him when he was swimming — in fact, he was like a
fish in the water; he could climb better than anyone
else ; he could also cling fast, like a snail, to the wall of
rock. There were good muscles and sinews in him ; this
was quite evident whenever he made a spring. He had
learned first from the cat how to spring, and from the
chamois afterwards. Eudy had the reputation of being
the best guide on the mountain, and he could have made
a great deal of money by this occupation. His uncle had
also taught him the cooper's trade, but he had no inclina-
tion for that. He cared for nothing but chamois-hunting ;
in this he delighted, and it also brought in money.
Eudy would be an excellent match, it was said, if he
only did not look too high. He was such a good dancer
that the girls who were his partners often dreamt of him,
and more than one let her thoughts dwell on him even
after she awoke.

' He kissed me in the dance ! ' said Annette, the
schoolmaster's daughter, to her dearest friend ; but she
should not have said this even to her dearest friend.
Such secrets are seldom kept — like sand in a bag that has
holes, they ooze out. Therefore, however well behaved

BABETTE. 37

Eudy might be, it was soon spread about that he kissed
in the dance; and yet he had never kissed her whom
he would have liked to kiss.

' Take care of him ! ' said an old hunter ; ' he has
kissed Annette. He has begun with A, and he will kiss
through the whole alphabet.'

A kiss in the dance was all that the gossips could
find to bring against Eudy ; but he certainly had kissed
Annette, and yet she was not the flower of his heart.

Below at Bex, amidst the great walnut-trees, close to a
small rushing mountain stream, lived the rich miller. His
dwelling-house was a large building of three stories high,
with small turrets ; its roof was composed of shavings of
wood covered with tinned iron plates, which shone in
sunshine and moonshine ; on the highest turret was
a vane, a glittering arrow passed through an apple, in
allusion to Tell's celebrated arrow-shot. The mill was a
conspicuous object, and permitted itself to be sketched or
written about ; but the miller's daughter did not permit
herself to be described in writing or to be sketched — so
at least Eudy would 'have said. And yet her image was
engraved on his heart ; both her eyes blazed in on it, so

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

that it was quite in flames. The fire had, like other fires,
come on suddenly ; and the strangest part of it was, that
the miller's daughter, the charming Babette, was quite
ignorant of it, for she and Eudy had never so much as
spoken two words to each other.

The miller was rich, and, on account of his wealth,
Babette was rather high to aspire to. ' But nothing is so
high,' said Eudy to himself, ' that one may not aspire to
it. One must climb perseveringly, and if one has con-
fidence one does not fall.' He had received this teaching
in his early home.

It so happened that Eudy had some business to
transact at Bex. It was a long journey to that place, for
there was then no railroad. From the glaciers of the
Ehone, immediately at the foot of the Simplon, among
many and often shifting mountain peaks, stretches the
broad valley of the Canton Valais, with its mighty river,
the Ehone, whose waters are often so swollen as to over-
flow its banks, inundating fields and roads, and destroy-
ing all. Between the towns of Sion and St. Maurice the
valley takes a turn, bending like an elbow, and below
St. Maurice becomes so narrow that there is only space

BABETTE. 39

for the bed of the river and the confined carriage-road.
An old tower, like the guardian of the Canton Yalais,
which ends here, stands on the side of the mountain, and
commands a view over the stone bridge to the custom-
house on the other side, where the Canton Vaud com-
mences ; and nearest of the not very distant towns lies
Bex. In this part, at every step forward, are displayed
increased fruitfulness and abundance; one enters, as it
were, a grove of chestnut and walnut trees. Here and
there peep forth cypresses and pomegranates. It is
almost as warm there as in Italy.

Rudy reached Bex, got through his business, and
looked about him ; but not a soul (putting Babette out
of the question) belonging to the mill did he see. This
was not what he wanted.

Evening came on ;.the air was filled with the perfume
of the wild thyme and the blossoming lime-trees; there
lay what seemed like a shining sky-blue veil over the
wooded green hills ; a stillness reigned around — not
the stillness of sleep, not the stillness of death — no,
it was as if all nature was holding its breath, in order
that its image might be photographed upon the blue

40

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

surface of the heavens above. Here and there amidst the
trees stood poles, or posts, which conveyed the wires of
the telegraph along the silent valley ; close against one of
these leaned an object, so motionless that one might have

Rudy's Journey to the Mill.

thought it was the decayed trunk of a tree, but it was
Eudy, who was standing there as still as was all around
him at that moment. He was not sleeping, neither was he
dead ; but, as through the wires of the telegraph there

BABETTE. 41

are often transmitted the great events of the world, and
matters of the utmost importance to individuals, without
the wires, by the slightest tremor or the faintest tone,
betraying them, so there passed through Eudy's mind
anxious overwhelming thoughts, fraught with the hap-
piness of his future life, and constituting, from this
time forth, his one unchanging aim. His eyes were
fixed on one point before him, and that was a light in
the parlour of the miller's house, where Babette resided.
Eudy stood so still that one might have thought he was
on the watch to fire at a chamois ; but he was himself at
that moment like a chamois, which one minute could
stand as if it were chiselled out of the rock, and sud-
denly, if a stone but rolled past, would make a spring
and leave the hunter in the lurch. And thus did Eudy,
for a thought rolled through his mind.

4 Never despair I ' said he ; ' a visit to the mill, say
good evening to the miller, and good day to Babette.
One does not fall unless one fears to do so. If I am to
be Babette's husband, she must see me some day or
other.'

And Eudy laughed, and made up his mind to go to

42 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

the miller's ; he knew what he wanted, and that was to
marry Babette.

The stream, with its yellowish-white water, was dash-
ing on ; the willows and lime-trees hung over it. Eudy,
as it stands in the old nursery rhyme,

Found to the miller's house his way ;
But there was nohody at home,
Except a pussy-cat at play !

The cat, which was standing on the steps, put up its
back and mewed; but Eudy was no way inclined] to
listen to it. He knocked at the door ; no one seemed to
hear him, no one answered. The cat mewed again.
Had Eudy been still a little boy, he might have under-
stood the cat's language, and heard that it said ' No one
is at home.' But now he had to go to the mill to make
the necessary enquiries, and there he was told that the
master had gone on a long journey to the town of
Interlaken — ' Inter Lacus, amidst the lakes,' as the
schoolmaster, Annette's father, in his great learning, had
explained the name.

Ah ! so far away, then, were the miller and Babette ?

BABETTE. 43

There was a great shooting match to be held at Inter-
laken ; it was to begin the next morning, and to last for
eight days. The Swiss from all the German cantons
were to assemble there.

Poor Eudy I it was not a fortunate time for him to
have come to Bex. He had only to return again ; and he
did so, taking the road over St. Maurice and Sion to his
own valley, his own hills. But he was not disheartened.
When the sun rose next morning, he was in high spirits,
but indeed they had never been depressed.

'Babette is at Interlaken, a journey of many days
from this,' he said to himself. 'It is a long way off if
one goes by the circuitous high-road, but not so far if
one cuts across the mountains, and that way just suits
a chamois-hunter. I have gone that way before ; over
yonder lies my early home, where, as a little boy, I
lived with my grandfather. And there are shooting
matches at Interlaken ; I shall take my place as the first
there, and there also shah1 I be with Babette, when I
become acquainted with her.'

Carrying his light knapsack, with his Sunday finery
in it, with his musket and game-bag, Rudy went up the

44 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

mountain, the shortest way, yet still tolerably long ; but
the shooting matches were only to commence that day,
and were to continue for a week. During all that time, he
had been assured, the miller and Babette would stay with
their relatives at Interlaken. So over the Gemini trudged
Eudy ; he proposed descending near Grindelwald.

In high health and spirits he set off, enjoying the
fresh, pure, and invigorating mountain air. The valleys
sank deeper, the horizon became more extensive ; here
a snow-crested summit, there another, and speedily
the whole of the bright shining Alpine range, became
visible. Eudy knew well every ice-clad peak. He kept
his course opposite to Schreckhorn, which raised its white-
powdered stone finger high towards the blue vault above.

At length he had crossed the loftier mountain ridge.
The pasture lands sloped down towards the valley that
was his former home. The air was pleasant, his thoughts
were pleasant ; hill and dale were blooming with flowers
and verdure, and his heart was full of the glowing
dreams of youth ; he felt as if old age, as if death, were
never to approach him ; life, power, enjoyment, were
before him. Free as a bird, light as a bird, was Eudy ;

BABETTE. 46

and the swallows flew past him, and sang as in the days
of his childhood, ' We and you, and you and we ! ' All
was motion and pleasure.

Beneath lay the green velvet meadows, dotted with
brown wooden houses ; the river Liitschine rushed foam-
ing along. He saw the glacier with its borders like
green glass edging the dirty snow, and he saw the deep
chasms, while the sound of the church bells came upon
his ear, as if they were ringing a welcome to his old
home. His heart beat rapidly, and his mind became so
full of old recollections that for a moment he almost
forgot Babette.

He was again traversing the same road where, as a
little boy, he had stood along with other children to sell
their carved wooden toy houses. Yonder, above the
pine-trees, still stood his grandfather's house, but strangers
dwelt there now. The children came running after him,
as formerly ; they wished to sell their little wares. One of
them offered him an Alpine rose ; Eudy took it as a good
omen, and thought of Babette. He had soon crossed the
bridge where the two Liitschines unite, and reached the
smiling country where the walnut and other embowering

46 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

trees afford grateful shade. He soon perceived waving
flags, and beheld the white cross on the red ground — the
standard of the Swiss as of the Danes — and before him
lay Interlaken.

Eudy thought it was certainly a splendid town — a
Swiss town in its holiday dress. It was not, like other
market towns, a heap of heavy stone houses, stiff, foreign-
looking, and aiming at grandeur ; no ! it looked as if the
wooden houses from the hills above had taken a start into
the green valley beneath, with its clear stream whose
waters rushed swiftly as an arrow, and had ranged them-
selves into rows — somewhat uneven, it is true — to form
the street. And that prettiest of all, the street which
had been built since Eudy, as a little boy, had last been
there — that seemed to be composed of all the nicest
wooden houses his grandfather had cut out, and with
which the cupboard at home had been filled. These
seemed to have transplanted themselves there, and to
have grown in size, as the old chestnut-trees had done.

Every house almost was an hotel, as it was called,
with carved wooden work round the windows and
balconies, with smart-looking roofs, and before each

BABETTE. 47

house a flower garden, between it and the wide mac-
adamised high-road. Near these houses, but only on
one side of the road, stood some other houses : had they
formed a double row, they would have concealed the
fresh green meadow, where wandered the cows with
bells that rang as among the high Alpine pastures. The
valley was encircled by lofty hills, which, about the
centre, seemed to retire a little to one side, so as to ren-
der visible that glittering snow-white Jungfrau, the most
beautiful in form of all the mountains of Switzerland.

What a number of gaily-dressed gentlemen and ladies
from foreign lands — what crowds of Swiss from the
adjacent cantons ! The candidates for the prizes carried
the numbers of their shots in a garland round their hats.
There was music of all kinds — singing, hand-organs and
wind instruments, shouting and racket. The houses and
bridges were adorned with verses and emblems. Flags
and banners waved ; the firing of gun after gun was
heard, and that was the best music to Eudy's ears.
Amidst all this excitement he almost forgot Babette,
for whose sake only he had gone there.

Crowds were thronging to the target-shooting. Eudy

48 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

was soon among them, and he was always the luckiest —
the best shot — for he always struck the bull's-eye.

' Who is that young stranger — that capital marksman ? '
was asked around. ' He speaks the French language as
they speak it in the Canton Valais ; he also expresses
himself fluently in our German,' said several people.

'When a child he lived here in the valley, near
Grindelwald,' replied some one.

The youth was full of life ; his eyes sparkled, his aim
was steady, his arm sure, and therefore his shots always
told. Good fortune bestows courage, and Eudy had
always courage. He had soon a whole circle of friends
round him. Everyone noticed him ; in short, he became
the observed of all observers. Babette had almost
vanished from his thoughts. Just then a heavy hand
was laid upon his shoulder, and a rough voice accosted
him in the French language with —

' You are from the Canton Valais ? '

Eudy turned round, and beheld a red jolly coun-
tenance and a stout person. It was the rich miller from
Bex ; his broad bulk hid the slender lovely Babette,
who, however, soon came forward with her dark bright

BABETTE. 49

eyes. The rich miller was very proud that it was a
huntsman from his own canton that had been declared
the best shot, and was so much distinguished and so
much praised. Eudy was truly the child of good for-
tune ; what he had travelled so far to look for, but had
since his arrival nearly forgotten, now sought him.

When at a distance from home one meets persons
from thence, acquaintance is speedily made, and people
speak as if they knew each other. Eudy held the
first place at the shooting matches, as the miller held the
first place at Bex on account of his money and his
mill. So the two men shook hands, although they
had never met before ; Babette, too, held out her hand
frankly to Eudy, and he pressed it warmly, and gazed
with such admiration at her that she became scarlet.

The miller talked of the long journey they had made,
and the numerous large towns they had seen, and how
they had travelled both by steam and by post.

' I came the shorter way,' said Eudy ; ' I went over
the mountains, There is no road so high that one can-
not venture to take it.'

' Ay, at the risk of breaking one's neck ! ' replied

50 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

the miller ; ' and you look just like one who will some
clay or other break his neck — you are so daring ! '

' One does not fall unless one has the fear of doing
so,' said Eudy.

And the miller's relations at Interlaken, with whom
he and Babette were staying, invited Eudy to visit them,
since he came from the same canton as did their kindred.
It was a pleasant invitation for Eudy. Luck was with
him, as it always is with those who depend upon them-
selves, and remember that ' our Lord bestows nuts upon
us, but He does not crack them for us ! '

And Eudy sat, almost like one of the family, amongst
the miller's relations, and a toast was drunk in honour of
the best shot, to which Eudy returned thanks, after
clinking glasses with Babette.

In the evening the whole party took a walk on the
pretty avenue along the gay-looking hotels under the
walnut-trees ; and there was such a crowd, and so much
pushing, that Eudy had to offer his arm to Babette. He
told her how happy he was to have met people from the
Canton Vaud, for Vaud and Valais were close neighbours.
He spoke so cordially that Babette could not resist

BABETTE. 51

slightly squeezing his hand. They seemed almost like
old acquaintances, and she was very lively — that pretty
little girl. Eudy was much amused at her remarks on
what was absurd and over-fine in the dress of the foreign
ladies, and the affectation of some of them ; but she did
not wish to ridicule them, for there might be some
excellent people among them — yes, nice amiable people,
Babette was sure of that, for she had a godmother who
was a very superior English lady. Eighteen years before,
when Babette was christened, that lady was at Bex ; she
had given Babette the valuable brooch she wore. Her
godmother had written to her twice, and this year they
were to have met her at Interlaken, whither she was
coming with her daughters : they were old maids, going
on for thirty, said Babette — she herself was only eighteen.
The tongue in her pretty little mouth was not still
for a moment, and all that she said appeared to Eudy as
matters of the greatest importance. And he told her what
he had to tell — told how he had been to Bex, how well
he knew the mill, and how often he had seen her, though,
of course, she had never remarked him. He said he had
been more distressed than he could tell, when he found

52 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

that she and her father were away, far away ; but still
not too far to prevent one from scrambling over the wall
that made the road so long.

He said all this, and he said a great deal more ; he
told her how much she occupied his thoughts, and that
it was on her account, and not for the sake of the
shooting matches, that he had come to Interlaken.

Babette became very silent — it was almost too much,
all that he confided to her.

As they walked on, the sun sank behind the lofty
heights, and the Jungfrau stood in strong relief, clothed
in a splendour and brilliancy reflected by the green
woods of the surrounding hills. Everyone stood still
and gazed at it; Eudy and Babette also stood and
looked at the magnificent scene.

' Nothing can be more beautiful than this ! ' said
Babette.

' Nothing ! ' said Eudy, with his eyes fixed upon
Babette.

' To-morrow I must go,' he added a little after.

' Come and visit us at Bex,' whispered Babette ; ' my
father will be so glad to see you.'

ON THE WAY HOME.

H ! how much had
not Eudy to carry next
day when he started on
his journey homewards
over the mountains !
He had actually to
carry two handsome guns, three
silver goblets, and a silver coffee-
pot— the latter would be of use
when he set up a house. But these
valuables were not the weightiest
load he had to bear ; a still weightier
load he had to carry — or did it
carry him? — over the high, high
hills.

The road was rough ; the
weather was dismal, gloomy, and
rainy ; the clouds hung like a mourning veil over the

54 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

summits of the mountains, and shrouded their shining
peaks. From the woods had resounded the last stroke of
the axe, and down the side of the hill rolled the trunks
of the trees; they looked like sticks from the vast
heights above, but nearer they were seen to be like the
thick masts of ships. The river murmured with its
monotonous sound, the wind whistled, the clouds began
to sail hurriedly along.

Close by Eudy suddenly appeared a young girl ; he
had not observed her until she was quite near him. She
also was going to cross the mountain. Her eyes had an
extraordinary power; they seemed to have a spell in
them — they were so clear, so deep, so unfathomable.

' Have you a lover ? ' asked Eudy. All his thoughts
were filled with love.

6 1 have none,' she replied with a laugh, but it seemed
as if she did not speak the truth. ' Let us not go the
long way round. We must keep to the left ; it is shorter.'

' Yes — to fall into some crevasse,' said Eudy. ' You
should know the paths better if you take upon yourself to
be a guide.'

'I know the way well,' she rejoined, ' and I have my

ON THE WAY HOME.

55

wits about me. Your thoughts are down yonder in the
valley. Up here one should think of the Ice-maiden.

Mankind say that she is not friendly to their race.'
' I am not in the least afraid of her,' said Eudy.

She

The Tempter.

could not keep me when I was a child ; she shall not
catch me now I am a grown-up man.'

It became very dark, the rain fell, and it began to
snow heavily ; it dazzled the eyes, and blinded them.

56 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

' Give me your hand, and I will help you to mount
upwards,' said the girl, as she touched him with her ice-
cold fingers.

' You help me ! ' cried Eudy. ' I do not yet require
a woman's help in climbing ; ' and he walked on more
briskly away from her. The snow-storm thickened like
a curtain around him, the wind moaned, and behind him
he heard the girl laughing and singing. It sounded so
strangely. It was surely Glarnourie, she surely, one of
the attendants of the Ice-maiden ; Eudy had heard of
such things when, as a little boy, he had spent a night on
the mountains, on his journey over the hills.

The snow fell more thickly, the clouds lay below him.
He looked back ; there was no one to be seen, but he
heard laughter and jeering, and it did not seem to come
from a human being.

When at length Eudy had reached the highest part of
the mountain, where the path led down to the valley of the
Ehone, he perceived on the pale blue of the horizon, in the
direction of Chamouny, two glittering stars. They shone
so brightly; and he thought of Babette, of himself, and of
his happiness, and became warm with these thoughts.

THE VISIT TO THE MILL.

OU have really brought costly
things home,' said his old foster-
mother, and her strange eagle
eyes sparkled, while she worked
her thin wrinkled neck even
more quickly than usual. ' You
carry good luck with you, Eudy.
I must kiss you, my dear boy.'

Eudy allowed himself to be
kissed, but it was evident by his
countenance that he did not
relish this domestic greeting.

' How handsome you are,
Eudy ! ' ' exclaimed the old wo-
man.

' Oh ! do n't flatter me,' re-
plied Eudy, laughing; but he
was pleased at the compliment nevertheless.

58 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

' I repeat it,' said the old woman, ' and good fortune
smiles on you.'

' Yes, I believe you are right there,' he said, while his
thoughts strayed to Babette.

Never before had he longed so much for the deep
valley.

' They must have come back,' he said to himself ; ' it
is now more than two days over the time they fixed for
their return. I must go to Bex.'

And to Bex he went. The miller and his daughter
were at home ; he was well received, and many greet-
ings were given to him from the family at Interlaken.
Babette did not speak much ; she had become very silent.
But her eyes spoke, and that was quite enough for Eudy.
The miUer, who generally had enough to say, and was
accustomed to joke and have all his jokes laughed at,
for he was the rich miller, seemed to prefer listening to
Eudy's stirring adventures, and hearing him tell of all
the difficulties and dangers that the chamois-hunter had
to encounter on the mountain heights — how he had to
crawl along the unsafe snowy cornice-work on the edges
of the hills, which was attached to the rocks by the force

THE VISIT TO THE MILL.

of the wind and weather, and tread the frail bridges the
snow-storm had cast over many a deep abyss.

Eudy spoke with much spirit, and his eyes sparkled
while he described the life of a hunter, the cunning of
the chamois and the wonderful springs they took, the
mighty fohn, and the rolling avalanche. He observed
that, at every new description, he won more and more
upon the miller, and that the latter was particularly
interested in his account of the lammergeier and the bold
royal eagle.

Not far from Bex, in the Canton Valais, there was
an eagle's nest, built most ingeniously under a projecting
platform of rock, on the margin of the hill ; there was a
young one in it, which no one could take. An English-
man had, a few days before, offered Eudy a large
handful of gold if he would bring him the young eagle
alive.

'But there are limits even to the most reckless
daring,' said Eudy. ' The young eagle up there is not
to be got at : it would be madness to make the attempt.'

And the wrine circulated fast, and the conversation
flowed on fast, and Eudy thought the evening was much

60 THE ICE-MAIDEX.

too short, although it was past midnight when he left the
miller's house after this his first visit.

The lights shone for a short time through the win-
dows, and were reflected on the green branches of the
trees, while through the skylight on the roof, which was
open, crept out the parlour cat, and met in the water
conduit on the roof the kitchen cat.

' Do n't you see that there is something new going
on here ? ' said the parlour cat. ' There is secret love-
making in the house. The father knows nothing of it
yet. Eudy and Babette have been ah1 the evening
treading on each other's toes under the table ; they trod
on me twice, but I did not mew, for that would have
aroused suspicion.'

' Well, / would have done it,' said the kitchen cat.

' What might suit the kitchen would not do in the
parlour,' replied the parlour cat. 'I should like very
much to know what the miller will say when he hears
of this engagement.'

Yes, indeed — what would the miller say? That
Rudy also was anxious to know. He could not bring
himself to wait long. Therefore, before many days had

THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 01

passed, when the omnibus rolled over the bridge between
the Cantons Valais and Vaud, Eudy sat in it, with
plenty of confidence as usual, and pleasant thoughts of
the favourable answer he expected that evening.

And when the evening had come, and the omnibus
was returning, Eudy also sat in it, going homewards.
But, at the miller's, the parlour cat jumped out again.

' Look here, you from the kitchen — the miller knows
everything now. There was a strange end to the affair.
Eudy came here towards the afternoon, and he and
Babette had a great deal to whisper about ; they stood
on the path a little below the miller's room. I lay
at their feet, but they had neither eyes nor thoughts
for me.

' " I will go straight to your father," said Eudy ; " my
proposal is honest and honourable."

' " Shall I go with you," said Babette, " that I may
give you courage ? "

' " I have plenty of courage," replied Eudy, " but if
you are with me, he must put some control upon him-
self, whether he likes the matter or not."

' So they went in. Eudy trod heavily on my tail — he

THE ICE -MAIDEN.

is very clumsy. I mewed, but neither he nor Babette had
ears for me. They opened the door, and entered together,
and I with them, but I sprang up to the back of a chair.
I could scarcely hear what Eudy said, but I heard how

the master blazed forth : it was a regular turning him
out of his doors up to the mountains and the chamois.
Eudy might look after these, but not after our little
Babette.'

THE VISIT TO THE MILL. 63

' But what did they say ? ' asked the kitchen cat.

' Say ! they said all that is generally said under such
circumstances when people go a-wooing. " I love her,
and she loves me ; and when there is milk in the can
for one, there is milk in the can for two."

4 " But she is far above you," said the miller ; " she
has lots of gold, and you have none. Do n't you see that
you cannot aspire to her ? "

; " There is nothing or no one so high that one may
not reach if one is only determined to do so," said Eudy,
getting angry.

' " But you said not long since that you could not reach
the young eagle in its nest. Babette is a still higher and
more difficult prize for you to take."

' " I will take them both," replied Eudy.

' " Very well ! I will give her to you when you bring
me the young eaglet alive," said the miller, and he
laughed until the tears stood in his eyes. " But now,
thank you for your visit, Eudy! If you come again
to-morrow, you will find no one at home. Farewell,
Eudy ! "

'And Babette also said farewell, in as timid and

64 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

pitiable a voice as that of a little kitten which cannot
see its mother.

' " A promise is a promise, and a man is a man ! " said
Eudy. " Do not weep, Babette ; I shall bring the young
eagle."

' " You will break your neck, I hope!" exclaimed the
miller ; " then we shall be free of this bad job." I call
that sending him off with a flea in his ear ! Now Eudy
is gone, and Babette sits and cries, but the miller sings
German songs which he learnt in his journey. I shall
not distress myself about the matter; it would do no
good.'

' But it is all very curious,' said the kitchen cat.

THE EAGLE'S NEST.

EOM the mountain path
came the sound of a
person whistling in a
strain so lively that it
betokened good-humour
and undaunted courage. The whistler
was Eudy ; he was going to his
friend Vesinand.

* You must help me ! We shall
take Eagii with us. I must carry oft
the young eagle up yonder under
the shelving rock ! '

'Had you not better try first to
take down the moon ? That would
be about as hopeful an undertaking,'
said Vesinand. 'You are in great
spirits, I see.'
4 Yes, for I am thinking of my wedding. But now,

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

to speak seriously, you shall know how matters stand
with me/

And Vesinand and Eagli were soon made acquainted
with what Eudy wished.

' You are a daring fellow,' they said, ' but you won't
succeed — you will break your neck.'

' One does not fall if one has no fear ! ' said Eudy.

About midnight they set out with alpenstocks,
ladders, and ropes. The road lay through copsewood
and brushwood, over rolling stones — upwards, always
upwards, upwards in the dark and gloomy night. The
waters roared below, the waters murmured above, humid
clouds swept heavily along. The hunters reached at
length the precipitous ridge of rock. It became even
darker here, for the walls of rock almost met, and light
penetrated only a little way down from the open space
above. Close by, under them, was a deep abyss, with its
hoarse-sounding, raging water.

They sat all three quite still. They had to await the
dawn of day, when the parent eagle should fly out ; then
only could they fire if they had any hope to capture the
young one. Eudy sat as still as if he had been a portion

THE EAGLE'S NEST.

67

of the rock on which he sat. He held his gun ready to
fire ; his eyes were steadily fixed on the highest part of
the cleft, under a projecting rock of which the eagle's
nest was concealed. The three hunters had long to wait.

•-^.--

- -

The Eagle's .Nest.

At length, high above them was heard a crashing,
whirring noise ; the air was darkened by a large object
soaring in it. Two guns were ready to aim at the
enormous eagle the moment it flew from its nest. A shot

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

was fired ; for an instant the outspread wings fluttered, and
then the bird began to sink slowly, and it seemed as if
with its size and the stretch of its wings it would fill
the whole chasm, and in its fall drag the hunters down
with it. The eagle disappeared in the abyss below ; the
cracking of the trees and bushes was heard, which were
snapped and crushed in the fall of the stupendous bird.

And now commenced the business that had brought
the hunters there. Three of the longest ladders were
tied securely together. They were intended to reach the
outermost and last stepping-place on the margin of the
abyss ; but they did not reach so high up, and smooth as
a well-built wall was the perpendicular rocky ascent a
good way higher up, where the nest was hidden under
the shelter of the uppermost projecting portion of rock.
After some consultation the young men came to the
conclusion, that there was nothing better to be done than
to hoist far up two more ladders tied together, and then
to attach these to the three which had already been
raised. With immense difficulty they pushed the two
ladders up, and the ropes were made fast ; the ladders
shot out from over the rock, and hung there swaying in

THE EAGLE'S NEST.

the air above the unfathomable depth beneath. Eudy
had placed himself already on the lowest step. It was
an ice-cold morning ; the mist was rising heavily from the
dark chasm below. Eudy sat as a fly sits upon some
swinging straw which a bird, building its nest, might
have dropped on the edge of the lofty eyrie it had chosen
for its site ; but the insect could fly if the straw gave
way — Eudy could but break his neck. The wind was
howling around him, and away in the abyss below roared
the gushing water from the melting glacier — the Ice-
maiden's palace.

His ascent set the ladder into a tremulous motion,
as the spider does which holds fast to its long waving
slender thread. When Eudy had gained the top of the
fourth ladder, he felt more confidence in them : he knew
that they had been bound together by sure and skilful
hands, though they dangled as if they had had but slight
fastenings.

But there was even more dangerous work before
Eudy than mounting a line of ladders that now swayed
like a frame of rushes in the air, and now knocked against
the perpendicular rock : he had to climb as a cat climbs.

THE ICE-MAIDEX.

But Eudy could do that, thanks to the cat who had taught
him. He did not perceive the presence of Vertigo, who
trod the air behind him, and stretched forth her polypus-
anns after him. He gained, at length, the last step of the
highest ladder, and then he observed that he had not got
high enough even to see into the nest. It was only by
using his hands that he could raise himself up to it ; he
tried if the lowest part of the thick interlaced underwood,
which formed the base of the nest, was sufficiently strong ;
and when he had assured himself that the stunted trees
were firm, he swung himself up by them from the ladder,
until his head and breast had reached the level of the nest.
But then poured forth on him a stifling stench of carrion ;
for putrefied lambs, chamois, and birds lay there crowded
together.

Swimming-in-the-Head, a sister to Vertigo, though it
could not overpower him, puffed the disgusting almost
poisonous odour into his face, that he might become
faint ; and down below, in the black yawning ravine,
upon the dank dashing waters, sat the Ice-maiden herself,
with her long pale green hair, and gazed upwards with
her death-giving eyes, while she exclaimed —

THE EAGLE'S NEST. 71

1 Now I will seize you ! '

In a corner of the eagle's nest, Eudy beheld the eaglet
sitting — a large and powerful creature, even though it
could not yet fly. Eudy fixed his eyes on it, held on
marvellously with one hand, and with the other hand
cast a noose around the young eagle ; it was captured
alive, its legs were in the tightened cord, and Eudy flung
the sling with the bird over his shoulder, so that the
creature hung a good way down beneath him, as, with the
help of a rope, he held on, until his foot touched at last
the highest step of the ladder.

' Hold fast ! do n't fear to fall, and you will not do so !'
Such was his early lesson, and Eudy acted on it : he held
fast, crept down, and did not fall.

Then arose a shout of joy and congratulation. Eudy
stood safely on the rocky ground, laden with his prize, the
young eagle.

WHAT MORE THE PARLOUR CAT HAD
TO TELL.

ERE is what you de-
manded!' said Rudy, as
lie entered the miller's
house at Bex, and placed
on the floor a large bas-
ket. When he took its
cover off, there glared forth
two yellow eyes surrounded
with a dark ring — eyes so
flashing, so wild, that they
looked as though they
would burn or blast every-
thing they saw; the short
hard beak opened to bite ;
the neck was red and
downy.

' The young eagle ! '

74 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

exclaimed the miller. Babette screamed, and sprang to
one side, but could not take her eyes off from Eudy and
the eaglet.

' You are not to be frightened ! ' said the miller,
addressing Eudy.

' And you will keep your word,' said Eudy ; ' everyone
has his object.'

' But how is it that you did not break your neck ? '
asked the miller.

' Because I held fast,' replied Eudy ; ' and so I do
now — I hold fast to Babette.'

' Wait till you get her ! ' said the miller, laughing, and
Babette thought that was a good sign.

' Let us take the young eagle out of the basket ; it is
frightful to see how its eyes glare. How did you manage
to capture it ? '

Eudy had to describe his feat, and, as he spoke, the
miller's eyes opened wider and wider.

'With your confidence and your good fortune, you
might maintain three wives,' said the miller.

' Oh, thank you ! ' cried Eudy.

' But you won't get Babette just yet,' said the miller,

WHAT MORE THE PARLOUR CAT HAD TO TELL. 75

slapping the young Alpine hunter with good-humour on
his shoulder.

' Do you know, there is something going on again
here!' said the parlour cat to the kitchen cat. 'Eudy
has brought us the young eagle, and takes Babette as
his reward. They have kissed each other in the father's
presence ! That was as good as a betrothal. The old
man did not storm at all; he kept in his claws, took an
afternoon nap, and left the two to sit and chatter to each
other. They have so much to say that they will not be
tired talking till Christmas.'

And they were not tired talking till Christmas. The
wind whirled in eddies through the groves, and shook
down the yellow leaves ; the snow-drifts appeared in the
valleys as well as on the lofty hills ; the Ice-maiden sat in
her proud palace, which she occupied during the winter-
time ; the upright walls of rock were covered with sleet ;
enormous masses of ice-tapestry were to be seen where, in
summer, the mountain streams came pouring down ; fan-
tastic garlands of crystal ice hung over the snow-powdered
pine-trees. The Ice-maiden rode on the howling wind,

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

over the deepest dales. The carpet of snow was laid as
far down as Bex ; she could go there, and see Kudy in the
house where he now passed so much of his time with
Babette. The wedding was to take place hi summer, and

The Path of the Ice-maiden.

they heard enough of it — their friends talked so much
about it.

There came sunshine; the most beautiful Alpine
roses bloomed. The lovely laughing Babette was as

WHAT MORE THE PARLOUR CAT HAD TO TELL. 77

charming as the early spring — the spring which makes
all the birds sing of summer-time, when was to be the
wedding-day.

' How these two do sit and hang over each other ! '
exclaimed the parlour cat. ' I am sick of all this stuff. '

THE ICE-MAIDEN'S- SCOBN OF MANKIND.

PEING had unfolded her fresh
green garlands of walnut and
chestnut trees which were burst-
ing into bloom, particularly in the
country that extends from the
bridge at St. Maurice to the Lake
of Geneva and the banks of the
Ehone, which, with wild speed,
rushes from its source under the
green glaciers — the Ice-palace
where the Ice-maiden dwells —
whence, on the keen wind, she
permits herself to be borne up to
the highest fields of snow, and,
in the warm sunshine, reclines
on their drifting masses. Here
she sat, and gazed fixedly down
into the deep valley beneath, where human beings,

80 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

like ants on a sunlit stone, were to be seen busily moving
about.

' Beings of mental power, as the children of the sun
call you,' cried the Ice-maiden^ ' ye are but vermin !
Let a snowball but roll down, and you and your houses
and your villages are crushed and overwhelmed.' And
she raised her proud head higher, and looked with
death-threatening eyes around her and below her. But
from the valley arose a strange sound : it was the blasting
of rocks — the work of men — the forming of roads and
tunnels before the railway was laid down.

' They are working underground like moles ; they are
digging passages in the rock, and therefore are heard
these sounds like the reports of guns. I shall remove my
palaces, for the noise is greater than the roar of thunder
itself.'

There ascended from the valley a thick smoke, which
seemed agitated like a fluttering veil : it came curling up
from the locomotive, which upon the newly opened
railway drew the train, that, carriage linked to carriage,
looked like a winding serpent. With an arrow's speed
it shot past.

THE ICE-MAIDEN'S SCORN OF MANKIND.

81

' They pretend to be the masters down yonder, these
powers of mind ! ' exclaimed the Ice-maiden ; ' but the
mighty powers of nature are still the rulers.'

The Ice-maiden.

And she laughed, she sang ; her voice resounded
through the valley.

'An avalanche is falling!' cried the people down
there.

Then the children of the sun sang in louder strains

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

about the power of thought in mankind. It commands
all, it brings the wide ocean under the yoke, levels
mountains, fills up valleys ; the power of thought in
mankind makes them lords over the powers of nature.

Just at that moment, there came, crossing the snow-
field wrhere the Ice-maiden sat, a party of travellers ; they
had bound themselves fast to each other, to be as one
large body upon the slippery ice, near the deep abyss.

'Vermin!' she exclaimed. 'You the lords of the
powers of nature !' and she turned away from them, and
looked scornfully towards the deep valley, where the
railway train was rushing by.

' There they go, these thoughts ! They are full of
might ; I see them everywhere. One stands alone like a
king, others stand in a group, and yonder half of them
are asleep. And when the steam-engine stops still, they
get out and go their way. The thoughts then go forth
into the world.' And she laughed.

' There goes another avalanche ! ' said the inhabitants
of the valley.

' It will not reach us,' cried two who sat together in
the train — ' two souls, but one mind,' as has been said.

THE ICE-MAIDEN'S SCORN OF MANKIND. 83

These were Kudy and Babette ; the miller accompanied
them.

' Like baggage,' he said, ' I am with them as a sort of
necessary appendage.'

' There sit the two,' said the Ice-maiden. ' Many a
chamois have I crushed, millions of Alpine roses have I
snapped and broken, not a root left — I destroyed them
all! Thought — power of mind, indeed !'

And she laughed again.

' There goes another avalanche ! ' said those down in
the valley.

THE GODMOTHER

T Montreux, one of the near-
est towns, which, with Clarens,
Bernex, and Grin, encircle the
north-east part of the Lake of
Geneva, resided Babette's god-
mother, the distinguished Eng-
lish lady, with her daughters
and a young relation. They
had only lately arrived, yet
the miller had already paid
them a visit, announced Ba-
bette's engagement, and told
about Eudy and the young
eagle, the visit to Interlaken
—in short, the whole story ;
and it had highly interested his
hearers, and pleased them with
Babette, and even the miller himself. They were

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

invited all three to come to Montreux, and they went.
Babette ought to see her godmother, and her godmother
wished to see her.

At the little town of Villeneuve, about the end of the

Lake of Geneva, lay the steamboat, that, in a voyage of
half an hour, went from thence to Bernex, a little way
below Montreux. It is a coast which has often been
celebrated in song by poets. There, under the walnut-

THE GODMOTHER. 87

trees, on the banks of the deep bluish-green lake, Byron
sat, and wrote his melodious verses about the prisoner
in the gloomy mountain castle of Chillon. There, where
Clarens is reflected amidst weeping willows in the clear
water, wandered Eousseau, dreaming of Eloise. The river
Ehone glides away under the lofty snow-clad hills of
Savoy ; here there lies not far from its mouth a small
island, so small that from the shore it looks as if it were
but a toy islet. It is a patch of rocky ground, which
about a century ago a lady caused to be walled round
and covered with earth, in which three acacia-trees
were planted ; these now overshadow the whole island.
Babette had always been charmed with this little islet ;
she thought it the loveliest spot that was to be seen
on the whole voyage. She said she would like so much
to land there — she must land there — it would be so
delightful under these beautiful trees. But the steamer
passed it by, and did not stop until it had reached
Bernex.

The little party proceeded thence up amidst the white
sunlit walls that surrounded the vineyards in front of the
little town of Montreux, where the peasants' houses are

88 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

shaded by fig-trees, and laurels and cypresses grow in the
gardens. Half-way up the ascent stood the boarding-
house where the godmother lived.

The meeting was very cordial. The godmother was a
stout pleasant-looking woman, with a round smiling face.
When a child she must certainly have exhibited quite a
Eaphael-like cherub's head ; it wTas still an angel's head,
but older, and with silver-white hair clustering round it.
The daughters were well-dressed, elegant-looking, tall and
slender. The young cousin who was with them, and who
was dressed in white almost from top to toe, and had red
hair and red whiskers large enough to have been divided
among three gentlemen, began immediately to pay the
utmost attention to little Babette".

Splendidly bound books and drawings w^ere lying on
the large table ; music-books were also to be seen in the
room. The balcony looked out upon the beautiful lake,
which was so bright and calm that the mountains of
Savoy, with their villages, woods, and snow-peaks, were
clearly reflected in it.

Eudy, who was generally so lively and so undaunted,
found himself not at all at his ease. He was obliged to

THE GODMOTHER. 89

be as much on his guard as if he were walking on peas
over a slippery floor. How tediously time passed ! It
was like being in a treadmill. And now they were to
go out to walk ! This was quite as tiresome. Two steps
forward and one backward Eudy had to take to keep pace
with the others. Down to Chillon, the gloomy old castle
on the rocky island, they went, to look at instruments of
torture and dungeons, rusty fetters attached to the rocky
walls, stone pallets for those condemned to death, trap-
doors through which the unfortunate creatures were
hurled down to fall upon iron spikes amidst burning
piles. They called it a pleasure to look at all these I A
dreadful place of execution it was, elevated by Byron's
verse into the world of poetry. Eudy viewed it only as
a place of execution. He leaned against the wide stone
embrasure of the window, and gazed down on the deep
blue-green of the water, and over to the little solitary
island with the three acacias : how much he wished
himself there — free from the whole babbling party !

But Babette felt quite happy. She had been exces-
sively amused, she said afterwards ; the cousin had ' found
her perfect.'

90 THE ICE-MAIDEX.

' Oh yes — mere idle talk ! ' replied Eudy ; and this
was the first time he had ever said anything that did not
please her.

The Englishman had made her a present of a little
book as a souvenir of Chillon ; it was Byron's poem,
the ' Prisoner of Chillon,' translated into French, so that
Babette was able to read it.

' The book may be good enough,' said Eudy, ' but
the nicely combed fop who gave it to you is no favourite
of mine.'

'He looks like a meal-sack without meal,' cried the
miller, laughing at his own wit.

Eudy laughed too, and said it was an excellent
remark.

THE COUSIN.

HEN" Eudy a few days after-
wards went to pay a visit to
the miller, he found the young
Englishman there. Babette
J|: had just placed before him a
[ plate of trout, and she had taken
much pains to decorate the
dish. Eudy thought that was
unnecessary. What was the
Englishman doing there ? What
did lie want ? Why was he
thus served and pampered by
Babette ? Eudy was jealous,
and that pleased Babette. It
amused her to see all the feel-
IB ings of his heart — the strong
IIP and the weak. Love was to
her as yet but a pastime, and she played with Eudy's

92 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

whole heart ; but nevertheless it is certain that he was
the centre of ah1 her thoughts — the dearest, the most
valued in this world. Still, the more gloomy he looked,
the merrier her eyes laughed. She could almost have
kissed the fair Englishman with the red whiskers, if she
could by doing this have seen Eudy rush out in a rage ; it
would have shown her how greatly she was beloved by him.

This was not right, not wise in little Babette ; but she
was only nineteen years of age. She did not reflect on
her unkindness to Eudy ; still less did she think how her
conduct might appear to the young Englishman, or if it
were not lighter and more wanting in propriety than
became the miller's modest, lately betrothed daughter.

Where the highway from Bex passes under the snow-
clad rocky heights, which, in the language of the country,
are called Diablerets, stood the mill, not far from a rapid
rushing mountain stream of a greyish-white colour and
looking as if covered with soap-suds. It was not that
which turned the mill, but a smaller stream, which on
the other side of the river came tumbling down the
rocks, and through a circular reservoir surrounded by
stones in the road beneath, with its violence and speed

THE COUSIN.

forced itself up and ran into an enclosed basin, a wide dam
which, above the rushing river, turned the large wheel of
the mill. When the dam was full of water, it overflowed,
and caused the path to be so damp and slippery that it
was difficult to walk on it, and there was the chance of a
fall into the water, and being carried by it more swiftly
than pleasantly towards the mill. Such a mishap had
nearly befallen the young Englishman. Equipped in white
like a miller's man, he was climbing the path in the
evening, guided by the light that shone from Babette's
chamber window. He had never learned to climb, and
had almost gone head foremost into the water, but escaped
with wet arms and bespattered clothes. Covered with
mud and dirty-looking, he arrived beneath Babette's win-
dow, clambered up the old linden-tree, and there began to
mimic the owl — no other bird could he attempt to imitate.
Babette heard the sounds, and peeped through the thin
curtains ; but when she saw the man in white and felt
certain who he was, her little heart beat with terror, and
also with anger. She quickly extinguished her light, felt
if the window were securely fastened, and tiien left him
to screech at his leisure.

04

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

How terrible it would be if Eudy were now at the
mill ! But Eudy was not at the mill : no — it was much
worse—he was close by outside. High words were
spoken — angry words — there might be blows, there
might even be murder!

Balxrtte's First Trouble

Babette hastened to open her window, and, calling
Eudy's name, bade him go away, adding that she could
not permit him to remain there.

THE COUSIN.

' You will not permit nie to remain here ! ' he exclaimed.
' Then this is an appointment ! You are expecting some
good friend — some one whom you prefer to me ! Shame
on you, Babette ! '

4 You are unbearable ! ' cried Babette ; ' I hate you ! '
and she burst into tears. ' Go — go ! '

' I have not deserved this,' said Eudy, as he went
away, his cheeks like fire, his heart like fire.

Babette threw herself weeping on her bed.

' And you can think ill of me, Eudy — of me who love
you so dearly ! '

She was angry — very angry, and that was good for
her ; she would otherwise have been deeply afflicted. As
it was, she could fall asleep and slumber as only youth
can do.

EVIL POWEES.

UDY left Bex, and took
his way homewards,
choosing the path up
the mountains, with its
cold fresh air, where, amidst
the deep snow, the Ice-maiden
holds her sway. The largest
trees with their thick foliage
looked, so far below, as if they
were but potato tops ; the pines
and the bushes became smaller ;
the Alpine roses were covered
with snow, which lay in ^single
patches, like linen on a bleach-
field. One solitary blue gentian
stood in his path ; he crushed
it with the butt-end of his gun.
Higher up two chamois showed themselves. Eudy's

98 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

eyes sparkled, and his thoughts took flight into another
channel, but he was not near enough for a sure aim.
Higher still he ascended, where only a few blades of
grass grew amidst the blocks of ice. The chamois passed
in peace over the fields of snow. Eudy pressed angrily on ;
thick mists gathered around him, and presently he found
himself on the brink of the steep precipice of rock. The
rain began to fall in torrents. He felt a burning thirst ;
his head was hot, his limbs were cold. He sought for his
hunting flask, but it was empty : he had not given it a
thought when he rushed up the mountains. He had
never been ill in his life, but now he experienced a
sensation like illness. He was very tired, and felt a strong
desire to throw himself down and sleep, but water was
streaming all around him. He tried to rouse himself, but
every object seemed to be dancing in a strange manner
before his eyes.

Suddenly he beheld what he had never before seen
there — a newly built low hut that leaned against the
rock, and in the doorway stood a young girl. He
thought she was the schoolmaster's daughter, Annette,
whom he had once kissed in the dance, but she was not

EVIL POWERS.

Annette; yet certainly he had seen her before, perhaps
near Grindelwald the evening he was returning home
from the shooting matches at Interlaken.

' How did you come here ? ' he asked.

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

' Your flocks ! Where do they find grass ? Here
there is nothing but snow and rocks.'

' You know much about it, to be sure ! ' she said,
laughing. 'Behind this, a little way down, is a very
nice piece of pasture land. My goats go there. I take
good care of them ; I never miss one ; I keep what
belongs to me.'

' You are stout-hearted,' said Eudy.

' And so are you,' she answered.

' If you have any milk, pray give me some ; my thirst
is almost intolerable.'

' I have something better than milk,' she replied ;
' you shall have that. To-day some travellers came here
with their guides ; they left half a flask of wine behind
them. They will not return for it, and I shall not drink
it, so you shall have it.'

100 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

She went for the wine, poured it into a wooden
goblet, and gave it to Kudy.

' It is excellent,' said he ; 'I never tasted any wine so
warming, so reviving.' And his eyes beamed with a
wondrous brilliancy; there came a thrill of enjoyment,
a glow over him, as if every sorrow and every vexation
were vanishing from his mind ; the free gushing feeling
of man's nature awoke in him.

'But you are surely Annette, the schoolmaster's
daughter,' he exclaimed. ' Give me a kiss.'

' First give me the pretty ring you wear on your
finger.'

' My betrothal ring ? '

' Yes, just it,' said the girl ; and, replenishing the
goblet with wine, she held it to his lips, and again he
drank. A strange sense of pleasure seemed to rush into
his very blood. The whole world was his, he seemed to
fancy — why torment himself? Everything is given for
our gratification and enjoyment. The stream of life is
the stream of happiness : flow on with it, let yourself be
borne away on it — that is felicity. He gazed on the
young girl. She was Annette, and yet not Annette ; still

EVIL POWERS.

101

less was she the magical phantom, as he had called her
whom he had met near Grindelwald. The girl up here
upon the mountain was fresh as the new-fallen snow,
blooming like an Alpine rose, and livery as a kid ; yet

Rudy loses the Ring.

still formed from Adam's rib, a human being like Rudy
himself. And he flung his arms around her, and gazed
into her marvellously clear eyes. It was only for a mo-
ment; and in that moment, — how shall it be expressed,

102 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

how described in words ? Was it the life of the spirit or
the life of death which took possession of him? Was
he raised higher, or was he sinking down into the deep
icy abyss, deeper, always deeper? He beheld the walls
of ice shining like blue-green glass ; endless crevasses
yawned around him, and the waters dripped with a
sound like the chime of bells — they were clear as a pearl
lighted by pale blue flames. The Ice-maiden kissed him ;
it chilled him through his whole body. He uttered a cry
of horror, broke resolutely away from her, stumbled and
fell ; all became dark to his eyes, but he opened them
again. The evil powers had played their game.

The Alpine girl was gone, the sheltering hut was
gone ; water poured down the naked rocks, and snow
lay all around. Eudy was shivering with cold, soaked
through to the very skin, and his ring was gone — the
betrothal ring Babette had given him. His gun lay on
the snow close by him; he took it up, and tried to
discharge it, but it missed fire. Damp clouds rested like
thick masses of snow on the mountain clefts. Vertigo sat
there, and glared upon her powerless prey, and beneath
her rang through the deep crevasse a sound as if a mass

EVIL POWERS. 103

of rock had fallen down, and was crushing and carrying
away everything that opposed it in its furious descent.

At the miller's, Babette sat and wept. Six days had
elapsed since Eudy had been there — he who was in the
wrong, he who ought to ask her forgiveness, for she
loved him with her whole heart.

AT THE MILLEE'S HOUSE.

OW frightfully foolish mankind
are ! ' said the parlour cat to the
kitchen cat. 'It is all broken
off now between Babette and
Eudy. She sits and cries, and
he thinks no more about her.'

' I do n't like that,' said the
kitchen cat.

'Nor I either,' replied the
parlour cat, ' but I am not go-
ing to distress myself about
it. Babette can take the red
whiskers for her sweetheart.
He has not been here since the
evening he wanted to go on
the roof.'

The powers of evil carry on
their game without and within us. Eudy was aware of

100 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

this, and he reflected on it. What had passed around
him and within him up yonder on the mountain ? Was
it sin, or was it a fever dream ? He had never known
fever or illness before. While he blamed Babette, he
took a retrospective glance within himself. He thought
of the wild tornado in his heart, the hot whirlwind
which had recently broken loose there. Could he con-
fess all to Babette — every thought which, in the hour
of temptation, might have been carried out? He had
lost her ring, and in this very loss she had won him back.
Was any confession due from her to him ? He felt as if
his heart were breaking when his thoughts reverted
to her— so many recollections crowded on his mind. He
saw in her a laughing merry child, full of life ; many an
affectionate word she had addressed to him in the fulness
of her heart, came, like a ray of the sun, to gladden his
soul, and soon it was all sunshine there for Babette.

She must, however, apologise to him, and she should
do so.

He went to the miller's, and confession followed : it
began with a kiss, and ended in Eudy's being the sinner.
His great fault was that he could have doubted Babette's

AT THE MILLER'S HOUSE.

107

constancy — that was too bad of him ! Such distrust, such
impetuosity, might cause misery to them both. Yes, very
true! and therefore Babette preached him a little ser-
mon, which pleased herself vastly, and during which she

Babette's Lectu

looked very pretty. But, in one particular, Eudy was
right — the godmother's nephew was a mere babbler.
She would burn the book he had given her, and not
keep the slightest article that would remind her of him.

108 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

' Well, it is all right again,' said the parlour cat. ' Eudy
has come back, they have made friends ; and that is the
greatest of pleasures, they say.'

' I heard during the night,' said the kitchen cat, ' the
rats declaring that the greatest of pleasures was to eat
candle-grease and to banquet on tainted meat. Which
of them is to be believed, the lovers or the rats ? '

' Neither of them,' replied the parlour cat. ' It is
always safest to believe no one.'

The greatest happiness for Eudy and Babette was
about to take place ; the auspicious day, as it is called,
was approaching — their wedding-day !

But not in the church at Bex, not at the miller's
house, was the wedding to be solemnised : the godmother
had requested that the marriage should be celebrated at
her abode, and that the ceremony should be performed
in the pretty little church at Montreux. The miller was
very urgent that this arrangement should be agreed to ;
he alone knew what the godmother intended to bestow
on the young couple : they were to receive from her a
wedding gift that Was well worth such a small concession
to her wishes. The day was fixed ; they were to go to

AT THE MILLER'S HOUSE. 109

Villeneuve the evening before, in order to proceed by an
early steamer next morning to Mdntreux, that the god-
mother's daughters might adorn the bride.

' There ought to be a second day's wedding here in
this house,' said the parlour cat ; ' else I am sure I would
not give a mew for the whole affair.'

'There is going to be a grand feast,' replied the
kitchen cat. ' Ducks and pigeons have been killed, and
an entire deer hangs against the wall. My mouth waters
when I look at all this. To-morrow they commence
their journey.'

Yes, to-morrow ! That evening Eudy and Babette sat
as a betrothed couple for the last time at the miller's
house. Outside was to be seen the Alpine glow; the
evening bells were ringing ; the daughters of the sun
sang, ' That which is best will be ! '

NIGHT VISIONS.

HE sun had set ; the
clouds lay low in the
valley of the Ehone ;
amidst the lofty moun-
tains, the wind blew
from the south — an
African wind. Suddenly
over the high Alps there
arose a 'fohn,' which
swept the clouds asun-
der ; and when the wind
had lulled, all became,
for a moment, perfectly
still. The scattered
clouds hung in fantas-
tic forms amidst the
wooded hills that skirted
the rapid Ehone ; they hung in forms like those of the

112 THE ICE-MAIDEX.

marine animals of the antediluvian world, like eagles
hovering in the air, and like frogs springing in a marsh ;
they sank down over the gushing river, and seemed to sail
upon it, yet it was in the air they sailed. The current
carried with it an uprooted pine-tree ; the water whirled
in eddies around it. It was Vertigo and some of her sis-
ters that were thus dancing in circles upon the foaming
stream. The moon shone on the snow-capped hills, on
the dark woods, on the curious white clouds — those ap-
pearances of the night that seem to be the spirits of
nature. The mountain peasant saw them through his
little window ; they sailed outside in hosts before the
Ice-maiden who came from her glacier palace. She sat
on a frail skiff, the uprooted pine ; the water from the
glaciers bore her down to the river near the lake.

' The wedding guests are coming ! ' the air and the
waters seemed to murmur and to sing.

Warnings without, warnings within ! Babette had an
extraordinary dream.

It seemed to her as if she were married to Rudy, and
had been so for many years ; that he was out chamois-
hunting, but she was at home ; and that the young

NIGHT VISIONS. 113

Englishman with the red whiskers was sitting with her.
His eyes were full of passion, his words had as it were a
magic power in them ; he held out his hand to her, and
she felt compelled to go with him ; they went forth from
her home, and went always downwards. And Babette
felt as if there were a weight in her heart, which was
becoming every moment heavier. She was committing a
sin against Eudy — a sin against God. And suddenly she
found herself forsaken ; her dress was torn to pieces by
thorns, her hair was grey. She looked upwards in deep
distress, and on the margin of a mountain ridge she
beheld Eudy. She stretched her arms up towards him,
but did not dare either to call to him or to pray; and
neither would have been of any avail, for she soon per-
ceived that it was not himself, but only his shooting
jacket and cap, which were hanging on an alpenstock,
as hunters sometimes place them to deceive the chamois.
And in great misery Babette exclaimed —

' 0 that I had died on my wedding-day — the day
that was the happiest of my life ! 0 Lord my God ! that
would have been a mercy — a blessing! That would have
been the best thing that could have happened for me and

114

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

Eudy. No one knows his future fate.' And in impious
despair she cast herself down into the deep mountain
chasm. A string seemed to have broken — a tone of sor-
row was echoed around.

Babette's Dream.

Babette awoke. Her vision was at an end, and what
had happened in the dream-world had partially vanished
from her mind ; but she knew that she had dreamt some-
thing frightful, and dreamt about the young Englishman,

NIGHT VISIONS. 115

whom she had not seen or thought of for several months.
Could he still be at Montreux ? Would she* see him at
her wedding ? A slight shade of displeasure stole around
Babette's pretty mouth, and for a moment her eyebrows
knitted ; but soon came a smile and a gay sparkle in her
eye. The sun was shining so brightly without, and to-
morrow was her and Eudy's wedding-day !

He was already in the parlour when she came down,
and shortly after they set off for Villeneuve. The two
were all happiness, and the miller likewise ; he laughed
and joked, and was in the highest spirits. A kind father,
a good soul, he was.

' Now we have the house to ourselves,' said the
parlour cat.

THE CONCLUSION.

fleeted in the clear water.

T was not yet late in the
day when the three joy-
ous travellers reached
Villeneuve. After they
had dined, the miller
placed himself in a com-
fortable arm-chair with his
pipe, intending, when he had
done smoking, to take a short
nap. The affianced couple
went arm in arm out of the
town, along the high road,
under the wooded hills that
bordered the blue-green lake.
The grey walls and heavy
towers of the melancholy-
looking Chillon were re-
The little island with the

118 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

three acacias seemed quite near : it looked like a bouquet
on the calm lake.

' How charming it must be over yonder ! f exclaimed
Babette, who felt again the greatest desire to go to it ;
and her wish might be gratified at once, for a boat was
lying close to the bank, and the rope by which it was
secured was easy to undo. There was no one to be seen
of whom they could ask permission to take it, so they
got into it without leave. Eudy knew very well how to
row. The oars, like the fins of a fish, divided the mass
of water that is so pliant and yet so potent, so strong to
bear, so ready to swallow — gentle, smiling, smoothness
itself, and yet terror-inspiring and mighty to destroy.
A line of foam floated behind the boat, which, in a few
minutes, arrived at the little island, where the happy pair
immediately landed. There was just room for two to
dance.

Eudy swung Babette three or four times round, and
then they sat down on the little bench under the droop-
ing acacia, and looked into each other's eyes, and held
each other's hands, while around them streamed the last
rays of the setting sun. The pine forests on the hills

THE CONCLUSION. 119

assumed a purplish red tint resembling the hue of the
blooming heather ; and where the trees stopped, and the
bare rocks stood forward, there was a rich lustre, as if
the mountain were transparent. The skies were brilliant
with a crimson glow ; the whole lake was covered with a
tinge of pink, as if it had been thickly strewn with fresh
blushing roses. As the shades of evening gathered around
the snow-decked mountains of Savoy, they became of a
dark blue in colour, but the highest peaks shone like
red lava, and for a moment reflected their light on the
mountain forms before these vast masses were lost in
darkness. It was the Alpine glow, and Eudy and
Babette thought they had never before beheld one so
magnificent. The snow-bedecked Dent du Midi gleamed
like the disk of the full moon when it shows itself above
the horizon.

' Oh, what beauty ! oh, what pleasure ! ' exclaimed
the lovers at the same time.

' Earth can bestow no more on me,' said Eudy ; ' an
evening like this is as a whole life. How often have I been
sensible of my good fortune, as I am sensible of it now,
and have thought that, if everything were to come at

120 THE ICE-MAIDEX.

once to an end for me, I have lived a happy life ! What
a blessed world is this ! One day ends, but another begins,
and I always fancy the last is the brightest. Our Lord is
infinitely good, Babette.'

' I am so happy,' she whispered.

'Earth can bestow no more on me,' repeated Eudy.
And the evening bells rang from the hills of Savoy and
the mountains of Switzerland. In golden splendour stood
forth towards the west the dark-blue Jura.

'God grant you all that is brightest and best!' ex-
claimed Babette fervently.

' He will,' said Eudy ; ' to-morrow will fulfil that wish.
To-morrow you will be wholly mine — my own little
charming wife.'

' The boat ! ' cried Babette at that moment.

The boat which was to take them across again had
got loose, and was drifting away from the island.

' I will bring it back,' said Eudy, as he took off his
coat and boots, and, springing into the lake, swam vigo-
rously towards the boat.

Cold and deep was the clear bluish-green icy water
from the glacier of the mountain. Eudy looked down

THE CONCLUSION. 121

into it — he took but a glance, yet lie saw a gold ring
trembling, glittering, and playing there. He thought of
his lost betrothal ring, and the ring became larger and
extended itself out into a sparkling circle, within which
appeared the clear glacier ; endless deep chasms yawned
around it, and the water dropped tinkling like the sound
of bells, and gleaming with pale blue flames. In a second
he beheld what it will take many words to describe.
Young hunters and young girls, men and women who
had been lost in the crevasses of the glacier, stood
there, lifelike, with open eyes and smiling lips ; and far
beneath them arose from buried villages the church bells'
chimes. Multitudes knelt under the vaulted roofs ; ice-
blocks formed the organ-pipes, and the mountain torrents
made the music. The Ice-maiden sat on the clear trans-
parent ground ; she raised herself up towards Rudy, and
kissed his feet, and there passed throughout his limbs
a death-like chill, an electric shock — ice and fire : it
was impossible to distinguish one from the other in the
quick touch.

' Mine ! mine ! ' sounded around him and within him.
' I kissed thee when thou wert little — kissed thee on thy

122 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

mouth ! Now I kiss thee on thy feet ; now thou art
wholly mine ! '

And he disappeared in the clear blue water.

All was still around. The church bells had ceased to
ring ; their last tones had died away along with the last
streak of red on the skies above.

' Thou art mine ! ' resounded in the depths below.
' Thou art mine ! ' resounded from beyond the heights —
from infinity !

Happy to pass from love to love, from earth to
heaven !

A string seemed to have broken — a tone of sorrow
was echoed around. The ice-kiss of death had tri-
umphed over the corruptible ; the prelude to the drama
of life had ended before the game itself had begun.
All that seemed harsh, or sounded harshly, had subsided
into harmony.

Do you call this a sad story ?

Poor Babette ! For her it was an hour of anguish.
The boat drifted farther and farther away. No one on
the mainland knew that the betrothed couple had gone
over to the little island. The evening advanced, the

THE CONCLUSION. 123

clouds gathered, darkness came. Alone, despairing, wail-
ing, she stood there. A furious storm came on ; the
lightning played over the Jura mountains, and over those
of Switzerland and Savoy ; from all sides flash followed
upon flash, while the peals of thunder rolled in all direc-
tions for many minutes at a time. One moment the
lightning was so vivid that all around became as bright as
day — every single vine stem could be seen as distinctly as
at the hour of noon — and in another moment the black-
est darkness enveloped all. The lightning darted in
zigzags around the lake, and the roar of the thunder
was echoed among the surrounding hills. On land the
boats were drawn far up the beach, and all that were living
had sought shelter. And now the rain poured down in
torrents.

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

Babette sat with folded hands, with her head in her
lap, exhausted by grief, by screaming, by weeping.

' In the deep water,' she sobbed to herself, ' far down
yonder, as under a glacier, he lies.'

She remembered what Eudy had told her about his

124 THE ICE-MAIDEN.

mother's death, and of his being saved himself when
taken up apparently dead from the cleft in the glacier.
' The Ice-maiden has him again ! '

And there came a flash of lightning as dazzling as
the sun's rays on the white snow. Babette looked up.
The lake rose at that moment like a shining glacier :
the Ice-maiden stood there, majestic, pale, glittering, and
at her feet lay Eudy's corpse.

* Mine ! ' she cried, and again all around was gloom,
and darkness, and torrents of rain.

' Terrible ! ' groaned Babette. ' Why should he die
just when our happy day was so close at hand ? Great
God, enlighten my understanding — shed light upon my
heart! I comprehend not Thy ways, determined by
Thine almighty power and wisdom. '

And God did shed light on her heart. A retro-
spective glance — a sense of grace — her dream of the
preceding night — all crowded together on her mind.
She remembered the words she had spoken — a wish
for that which might be best for herself and Rudy.

' Woe is me ! Was it the germ of sin in my heart ?
Was my dream a glimpse into the future, whose course

THE CONCLUSION. 125

had to be thus violently arrested to save me from guilt ?
Unhappy wretch that I am ! '

She sat wailing there in the pitch-dark night.
During the deep stillness seemed to ring around her
Eudy's words — the last he had ever spoken — ' Earth can
bestow no more on me ! ' Their sound was fraught with
the fulness of joy ; they were echoed amidst the depths
of grief.

Some few years have elapsed since then. The lake
smiles, its shores smile ; the vines bear luscious grapes ;
steamboats with waving flags glide swiftly by ; pleasure-
boats with their two unfurled sails skim like white
butterflies over the watery mirror ; the railway beyond
Chillon is open, and it goes far into the valley of the
Ehone. At every station strangers issue from it — they
come with their red-bound guide-books, and study
therein what they ought to see. They visit Chillon,
observe in the lake the little island with the three
acacias, and read in the book about a bridal pair
who, in the year 1856, rowed over to it one afternoon —
of the bridegroom's death, and that not till the next

120

THE ICE-MAIDEN.

morning were heard upon the shore the bride's despair-
ing cries.

But the guide-book gives no account of Babette's
quiet life at her father's house — not at the mill (strangers

Babette's Solace.

now live there), but at a pretty spot whence from her
window she can often look beyond the chestnut-trees to
the snowy hills over which Rudy loved to range ; she
can see at the hour of evening the Alpine glow — up

THE CONCLUSION. 127

where the children of the sun revel, and repeat their
song about the wanderer whose cap the whirlwind car-
ried off, but it could not take himself.

There is a rosy tint upon the mountain's snow — there
is a rosy tint in every heart, which admits the thought,
' God ordains what is best for us ! ' But it is not vouch-
safed to us all so fully to feel this, as it was to Babette
in her dream.

THE BUTTEKFLY.

THE BUTTERFLY.

HE Butterfly was looking out for
a bride, and naturally lie wished
to select a nice one among the
flowers. He looked at them,
sitting so quietly and discreetly
upon their stems, as a damsel
generally sits when she is not
engaged ; but there were so
many to choose among that it
became quite a difficult matter.
The Butterfly did not relish
encountering difficulties, so in
his perplexity he flew to the
Daisy. She is called in France
Marguerite. He knew that she
could ' spae,' and that she did so
often ; for lovers plucked leaf
after leaf from her, and with each a question was asked

132 THE BUTTEKFLY.

respecting the beloved : — ' Is it true love ? ' ' From the
heart ? ' « Love that pines ? ' « Cold love ? ' ' None at
all?' — or some such questions. Everyone asks in his
own language. The Butterfly came too to put his ques-
tions ; he did not, however, pluck off the leaves, but
kissed them all one by one, with the hope of getting a
good answer.

' Sweet Marguerite Daisy,' said he, ' you are the
wisest wife among ah1 the flowers ; you know how to
predict events. Tell me, shall I get this one or that ? or
whom shall I get ? When I know, I can fly straight to
the fair one, and commence wooing her.'

But Marguerite would scarcely answer him ; she
was vexed at his calling her ' wife,' for she was still
unmarried, and therefore was not a wife. He asked a
second time, and he asked a third time, but he could not
get a word out of her ; so he would not take the trouble
to ask any more, but flew away without further ado
on his matrimonial errand.

It was in the early spring, and there were plenty of
Snowdrops and Crocuses. ' They are very nice-looking,'
said the Butterfly, ' charming little things, but somewhat

THE BUTTERFLY. 133

too juvenile.' He, like most very young men, preferred
elder girls. Thereupon he flew to the Anemones, but
they were rather too bashful for him ; the Violets were
too enthusiastic ; the Tulips were too fond of show ; the
Jonquils were too plebeian ; the Linden-tree blossoms were
too small, and they had too large a family connection ;
the Apple blossoms were certainly as lovely as Eoses to
look at, but they stood to-day and fell off to-morrow, as
the wind blew. It would not be worth while to enter
into wedlock for so short a time, he thought. The
Sweetpea was the one which pleased him most ; she was
pink and white, she was pure and delicate, and belonged
to that class of notable girls who always look well, yet
can make themselves useful in the kitchen. He was on
the point of making an offer to her when at that moment
he observed a peapod hanging close by, with a withered
flower at the end of it. ' Who is that ? ' he asked. ' My
sister,' replied the Sweetpea. ' Indeed ! then you will
probably come to look like her by-and-by,' screamed the
Butterfly as he flew on.

The Honeysuckles hung over the hedge ; they were
extremely ladylike, but they had long faces and yellow

134 THE BUTTERFLY.

complexions. They were not to his taste. But who was
to his taste ? Ay ! ask him that.

The spring had passed, the summer had passed, and
autumn was passing too. The flowers were still clad in
brilliant robes, but, alas ! the fresh fragrance of youth was
gone. Fragrance was a great attraction to him, though
no longer young himself, and there was none to be found
among the Dahlias and Hollyhocks. So the Butterfly
stooped down to the Wild Thyme.

' She has scarcely any blossom, but she is altogether a
flower herself, and all fragrance — every leaflet is full of it.
I will take her.'

So he began to woo forthwith.

But the Wild Thyme stood stiff and still, and at length
she said, ' Friendship, but nothing more ! I am old, and
you are old. We may very well live for each other,
but marry — no ! Let us not make fools of ourselves in
our old age ! '

So the Butterfly got no one. He had been too long
on the look-out, and that one should not be. The Butter-
fly became an old bachelor, as it is called.

It was late in the autumn, and there was nothing but

THE BUTTEEFLY. 135

drizzling rain and pouring rain ; the wind blew coldly
on the old willow-trees till the leaves shivered and the
branches cracked. It was not pleasant to fly about in
summer clothing ; this is the time, it is said, when do-
mestic love is most needed. But the Butterfly flew about
no more. He had accidentally gone within doors, where
there was fire in the stove — yes, real summer heat. He
could live, but ' to live is not enough,' said he ; ' sun-
shine, freedom, and a little flower, one must have.'

And he flew against the window pane, was observed,
admired, and stuck upon a needle in a case of curiosities.
More they could not do for him.

' Now I am sitting on a stem, like the flowers,' said
the Butterfly ; ' very pleasant it is not, however. It is
almost like being married — one is tied so fast.' And he
tried to comfort himself with this reflection.

' That is poor comfort ! ' exclaimed the plants in the
flower-pots in the room.

' But one can hardly believe a plant in a flower-pot,'
thought the Butterfly ; ' they are too much among human
beings.'

PSYCHE.

PSYCHE.

T the dawn of day through
the red atmosphere shines
a large star, morning's
clearest star ; its ray qui-
vers upon the white wall.
\ as if it would there in-
scribe what it had to re-
late— what in the course
of a thousand years it has witnessed
here and there on our revolving earth.
Listen to one of its histories : —
Lately (its lately is a century ago to
us human beings) my rays watched a
young artist ; it was in the territory of
the Pope, in the capital of the world —
Rome. Much has changed there in the
flight of years, but nothing so rapidly
as the change which takes place in the human form

C

140 PSYCHE.

between childhood and old age. The imperial city was
then, as now, in ruins ; fig-trees and laurels grew among
the fallen marble pillars, and over the shattered bath-
chambers, with their gold-enamelled walls; the Colos-
seum was a ruin; the bells of the churches rang, incense
perfumed the air, processions moved with lights and
splendid canopies through the streets. The Holy Church
ruled all, and art was patronised by it. At Eome lived
the world's greatest painter, Eaphael ; there also lived
the first sculptor of his age, Michael Angelo. The
Pope himself paid homage to these two artists, and
honoured them by his visits. Art was appreciated,
admired, and recompensed. But even then not all that
was great and worthy of praise was known and brought
forward.

In a narrow little street stood an old house ; it had
formerly been a temple, and there dwelt a young artist.
He was poor and unknown ; however, he had a few young
friends, artists like himself, young in mind, in hopes, in
thoughts. They told him that he was rich in talent, but
that he was a fool, since he never would believe in his
own powers. He always destroyed what he had formed

PSYCHE. 141

in clay; he was never satisfied with anything lie did,
and never had anything finished so as to have it seen
and known, and it was necessary to have this in order
to make money.

4 You are a dreamer,' they said, ' and therein lies
your misfortune. But this arises from your never hav-
ing lived yet, not having tasted life, enjoyed it in large
exhilarating draughts, as it ought to be enjoyed. It is
only in youth that one can do this. Look at the great
master, Eaphael, whom the Pope honours and the world
admires : he does not abstain from wine and good fare.'

' He dines with the baker's wife, the charming Forna-
rina,' said Angelo, one of the liveliest of the young group.

They all talked a great deal, after the fashion of gay
young men. They insisted on carrying the youthful
artist off with them to scenes of amusement and riot —
scenes of folly they might have been called — and for a
moment he felt inclined to accompany them. His blood
was warm, his fancy powerful ; he could join in their jovial
chat, and laugh as loud as any of them ; yet what they
called 'Eaphael's pleasant life' vanished from his mind
like a morning mist : he thought only of the inspiration

142 PSYCHE.

that was apparent in the great master's works. If he
stood in the Vatican near the beautiful forms the masters
of a thousand years before had created out of marble
blocks, then his breast heaved; he felt within himself
something so elevated, so holy, so grand and good, that
he longed to chisel such statues from the marble blocks.
He wished to give a form to the glorious conceptions of
his mind ; but how, and what form ? The soft clay that
was moulded into beautiful figures by his fingers one
day, was the next day, as usual, broken up.

Once, as he was passing one of the rich palaces, of
which there are so many at Home, he stepped within
the large open entrance court, and saw arched corridors
adorned with statues, enclosing a little garden full of the
most beautiful roses. Great white flowers, with green
juicy leaves, shot up the marble basin, where the clear
waters splashed, and near it glided a figure, that of a
young girl, the daughter of the princely house — so
delicate, so light, so lovely ! He had never beheld so
beautiful a woman. Yes — painted by Eaphael, painted as
Psyche, in one of the palaces of Eonie ! Yes — there she
stood as if living !

PSYCHE. 143

She also lived in his thoughts and heart. And he
hurried home to his humble apartment, and formed a
Psyche in clay ; it was the rich, the high-born young
Roman lady, and for the first time he looked with satis-
faction on his work. It was life itself — it was herself.
And his friends, when they saw it, were loud in their
congratulations. This work was a proof of his excellence
in art : that they had themselves already known, and the
world should now know it also.

Clay may look fleshy and lifelike, but it has not the
whiteness of marble, and does not last so long. His
Psyche must be sculptured in marble, and the expensive
block of marble required he already possessed : it had
lain for many years, a legacy from his parents, in the
court-yard. Broken bottles, decayed vegetables, and ah1
manner of refuse, had been heaped on it and soiled it,
but within it was white as the mountain snow. Psyche
was to be chiselled from it.

One day it happened (the clear star tells nothing of
this, for it did not see what passed, but we know it), a dis-
tinguished Roman party came to the narrow humble
street. The carriage stopped near it. The party had

144 PSYCHE.

come to see the young artist's work, of which they had
heard by accident. And who were these aristocratic
visitors ? Unfortunate young man ! All too happy
young man, he might also well have been called. The
young girl herself stood there in his studio ; and with
what a smile when her father exclaimed, ' But it is
you, you yourself to the life ! ' That smile could not be
copied, that glance could not be imitated — that speaking
glance which she cast on the young artist ! It was a
glance that fascinated, enchanted, and destroyed.

' The Psyche must be finished in marble,' said the
rich nobleman. And that was a life-giving word to the
inanimate clay and to the heavy marble block, as it was
a life-giving word to the young man.

' When the work is finished, I will purchase it,' said
the noble visitor.

It seemed as if a new era had dawned on the humble
studio ; joy and sprightliness enlivened it now, and ennui
fled before constant employment. The bright morning
star saw how quickly the work advanced. The clay itself
became as if animated with a soul, for even in it stood
forth, in perfect beauty, each now well-known feature.

PSYCHE.

145

'Now I know what life is,' exclaimed the young
artist joyfully ; ' it is love. There is glory in the excellent,
rapture in the beautiful. What my friends call life and
enjoyment are corrupt and perishable — they are bubbles

The Sculptor's Triumph.

in the fermenting dregs, not the pure heavenly altar-
wine that consecrates life.

The block of marble was raised, the chisel hewed
large pieces from it ; it was measured, pointed, and marked.

146 PSYCHE.

The work proceeded ; little by little, the stone assumed
a form, a form of beauty — Psyche — charming as God's
creation in the young female. The heavy marble be-
came life-like, dancing, airy, and a graceful Psyche, with
the blight smile so heavenly and innocent, such as had
mirrored itself in the young sculptor's heart.

The star of the rose-tinted morn saw it, and well
understood what was stirring in the young man's heart —
understood the changing colour on his cheek, the fire in
his eye — as he carved the likeness of what God had
created.

' You are a master, such as those in the time of the
Greeks,' said his delighted friends. 'The whole world
will soon admire your Psyche.'

' My Psyche ! ' he exclaimed. ' Mine ! Yes, such she
must be. I too am an artist like these great ones of by-
gone days. God has bestowed on me the gift of genius,
which raises its possessor to a level with the high-born.'

And he sank on his knees, and wept his thanks to
God, and then forgot Him for her — for her image in
marble. The figure of Psyche stood there, as if formed
of snow, blushing rosy red on the morning sun.

PSYCHE. 147

In reality he was to see her, living, moving, her
whose voice had sounded like the sweetest music. He
was to go to the splendid palace, to announce that the
marble Psyche was finished. He went thither, passed
through the open court to where the water poured,
splashing from dolphins, into the marble basin, around
which the white flowers clustered, and the roses shed
their fragrance. He entered the large lofty hall, wrhose
walls and roof were adorned with armorial bearings
and heraldic designs. Well-dressed, pompous-looking
servants strutted up and down, like sleigh-horses with
their jingling bells ; others of them, insolent-looking fel-
lows, were stretched at their ease on handsomely carved
wooden benches ; they seemed the masters of the house.
He told his errand, and was then conducted up the white
marble stairs, which were covered with soft carpets.
Statues were ranged on both sides ; he passed through
handsome rooms with pictures and bright mosaic floors.
For a moment he felt oppressed by all this magnificence
and splendour — it nearly took away his breath. But he
speedily recovered himself; for the princely owner of the
mansion received him kindly, almost cordially, and, after

148 PSYCHE.

they had finished their conversation, requested him, when
bidding him adieu, to go to the apartments of the young
Signora, who wished also to see him. Servants mar-
shalled him through superb saloons and suites of rooms
to the chamber where she sat, elegantly dressed and
radiant in beauty.

She spoke to him. No Miserere, no tones of sacred
music, could more have melted the heart and elevated
the soul. He seized her hand, and carried it to his lips ;
never was rose so soft. But there issued a fire from that
rose — a fire that penetrated through him and turned his
head ; words poured forth from his lips, which he
scarcely knew himself, like the crater pouring forth
glowing lava. He told her of his love. She stood
amazed, offended, insulted, with a haughty and scornful
look, an expression which had been called forth instan-
taneously by his passionate avowal of his sentiments
towards her. Her cheeks glowed, her lips became quite
pale ; her eyes flashed fire, and were yet as dark as ebon
night.

' Madman !' she exclaimed ; ' begone ! away !' And
she turned angrily from him, while her beautiful coun-

PSYCHE.

149

tenance assumed the look of that petrified face of old
with the serpents clustering around it like hair.

Like a sinking lifeless thing, he descended into the
street; like a sleep-walker he reached his home. But

The Repulse.

there he awoke to pain and fury ; he seized his hammer,
lifted it high in the air, and was on the point of breaking
the beautiful marble statue, but in his distracted state of
mind he had not observed that Angelo was standing near

150 PSYCHE.

him. The latter caught his arm, exclaiming, ' Have you
gone mad ? What \vould you do ?'

They struggled with each other. Angelo was the
stronger of the two, and, drawing a deep breath, the
young sculptor threw himself on a chair.

4 What has happened ? ' asked Angelo. ' Be yourself,
and speak.'

But what could he tell ? what could he say ? And
when Angelo found that he could get nothing out of him,
he gave up questioning him.

' Your blood thickens in this constant dreaming. Be
a man like the rest of us, and do not live only in the
ideal: you will go deranged at this rate. Take wine
until you feel it get a little into your head; that will
make you sleep well. Let a pretty girl be your doctor ;
a girl from the Campagna is as charming as a princess in
her marble palace. Both are the daughters of Eve, and
not to be distinguished from each other in Paradise.
Follow your Angelo ! Let me be your angel, the angel
of life for you ! The time will come when you will be
old, and your limbs' will be useless to you. Why, on a
fine sunny day, when everything is laughing and joyous,

PSYCHE. 151

do you look like a withered straw that can grow no
more ? I do not believe what the priests say, that there
is a life beyond the grave. It is a pretty fancy, a tale for
children — pleasant enough if one could put faitli in it.
I, however, do not live in fancies only, but in the world
of realities. Come with me ! Be a man ! '

And he drew him out with him ; it was easy to do so
at that moment. There was a heat in the young artist's
blood, a change in his feelings ; he longed to throw off
all his old habits, all that he was accustomed to — to
throw off his own former self — and he consented to
accompany Angelo.

On .the outskirts of Eome was a hostelry much fre-
quented by artists. It was built amidst the ruins of an
old bath-chamber ; the large yeUow lemons hung among
their dark bright leaves, and adorned the greatest part
of the old reddish-gilt walls. The hostelry was a deep
vault, almost like a hole in the ruin. A lamp burned
within it, before a picture of the Madonna ; a large fire
was blazing in the stove (roasting, boiling, and frying
were going on there) ; on the outside, under lemon and
laurel trees, stood two tables spread for refreshments.

152 PSYCHE.

Kindly and joyously were the two artists welcomed
by their friends. None of them ate much, but they all
drank a great deal ; that caused hilarity. There was
singing, and playing the guitar ; Saltarello sounded, and
the merry dance began. A couple of young Eoman
girls, models for the artists, joined in the dance, and took
part in their mirth — two charming Bacchantes! They
had not, indeed, the delicacy of Psyche — they were not
graceful lovely roses — but they were fresh, hardy, ruddy
carnations.

How warm it was that day ! Warm even after the
sun had gone down — heat in the blood, heat in the air,
heat in every look! The atmosphere seemed to be
composed of gold and roses — life itself was gold and
roses.

' Now at last you are with us ! Let yourself be borne
on the stream around you and within you.'

1 1 never before felt so well and so joyous,' cried the
young sculptor. ' You are right, you are all right ; I was
a fool, a visionary. Men should seek for realities, and not
wrap themselves up in phantasies.'

Amidst songs and the tinkling of guitars, the young

PSYCHE.

153

men sallied forth from the hostelry, and took their way,
in the clear starlit evening, through the small streets ;
the two ruddy carnations, daughters of the Campagna,
accompanied them. In Angelo's room, amidst sketches
and folios scattered about, and glowing voluptuous paint-
ings, their voices sounded more subdued, but not less

The Rovelleiv.

full of passion. On the floor lay many a drawing of the
Campagria's daughters in various attractive attitudes :
they were full of beauty, yet the originals were still more
beautiful. The six-branched chandeliers were burning,
and the light glared on the scene of sensual joy.

' Apollo ! Jupiter ! Into your heaven and happiness

104 PSYCHE.

am I wafted. It seems as if the flower of life has in this
moment sprung up in my heart.'

Yes, it sprang up, but it broke and fell, and a deaden-
ing hideous sensation seized upon him. It dimmed his
sight, stupefied his mind ; perception failed, and all be-
came dark around him.

He gained his home, sat down on his bed, and tried
to collect his thoughts. ' Fie ! ' was the exclamation
uttered by his own mouth from the bottom of his heart.
' Wretch ! begone ! away ! ' And he breathed a sigh full
of the deepest grief.

4 Begone ! away ! ' These words of hers — the living
Psyche's words — were re-echoed in his breast, re-echoed
from his lips. He laid his head on his pillow ; his
thoughts became confused, and he slept.

At the dawn of day he arose, and sat down to reflect.
What had happened? Had he dreamt it all — dreamt
her words — dreamt his visit to the hostelry, and the
evening with the flaunting carnations of the Campagna ?
No, all was reality — a reality such as he had never before
experienced.

Through the purplish haze of the early morning

PSYCHE. 155

shone the clear star ; its rays fell upon him and upon the
marble Psyche. He trembled as he gazed on the im-
perishable image ; he felt that there was impurity in his
look, and he threw a covering over it. Once only he
removed the veil to touch the statue, but he could not
bear to see his owrn work.

Quiet, gloomy, absorbed in his own thoughts, he sat
the live-long day. He noticed nothing, knew nothing of
what was going on about him, and no one knew what
was going on within his heart.

Days, weeks passed; the nights were the longest.
The glittering star saw him one morning, pale, shaking
with fever, arise from his couch, go to the marble figure,
lift the veil from it, gaze for a moment with an expres-
sion of deep devotion and sorrow on his work, and then,
almost sinking under its weight, he dragged the statue
out into the garden. In it there was a dried-up, dilapi-
dated disused well, which could only be called a deep
hole ; he sank his Psyche in it, threw in earth over it,
and covered the new-made grave with brushwood and
nettles.

' Begone ! away ! ' was the short funeral service.

150 PSYCHE.

The star witnessed this through the rose-tinted atmo-
sphere, and its ray quivered on two large tears upon
the corpse-like cheeks of the young fever-stricken man
— death-stricken they called him on his sick-bed.

The monk Ignatius came to see him as a friend and
physician — came with religion's comforting words, and
spoke to him of the Church's happiness and peace, of the
sins of mankind, the grace and mercy of God.

And his words fell like warm sunbeams on the damp
spongy ground ; it steamed, and the misty vapours
ascended from it, so that the thoughts and mental images
which had received their shapes from realities were
cleared, and he was enabled to take a more just view
of man's life. The delusions of guilt abounded in it, and
such there had been for him. Art was a sorceress that
lured us to vanity and earthly lusts. We are false
towards ourselves, false towards our friends, false towards
our God. The serpent always repeats within us, ' Eat
thereof; then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as
gods ! '

He seemed now for the first time to understand
himself, and to have found the way to truth and rest.

PSYCHE.

157

On the Church shone light from on high ; in the monk's
cell dwelt that peace amidst which the human tree
might grow to flourish in eternity.

Brother Ignatius encouraged these sentiments, and

The Refuge of the Church.

the artist's resolution was taken. A child of the world
became a servant of the Church : the young sculptor
bade adieu to all his former pursuits, and went into a
monastery.

158 PSYCHE.

How kindly, how gladly, was he received by the
Brothers ! What a Sunday fete was his initiation ! The
Almighty, it seemed to him, was in the sunshine that
illumined the church. His glory beamed from the holy
images and from the white cross. And when he now, at
the hour of the setting sun, stood in his little cell, and,
opening the window, looked out over the ancient Koine,
the ruined temples, the magnificent but dead Colosseum —
when he saw all this in the spring-time, when the acacias
were in bloom, the evergreens were fresh, roses bursting
from their buds, citrons and orange-trees shining, palms
waving — he felt himself tranquilhsed and cheered as he
had never been before. The quiet open Campagua ex-
tended towards the misty snow-decked hills, which seemed
painted in the air. All, blended together, breathed of
peace, of beauty, so soothingly, so dreamily — a dream
the whole.

Yes, the world was a dream here. A dream may
continue for an hour, and come again at another hour ;
but life in a cloister is a life of years, long and many.

He might have attested the truth of this saying, that
from within comes much which taints mankind. What

PSYCHE. 159

was that fire which sometimes blazed throughout him ?
What was that source from which evil, against his will,
was always welling forth ? He scourged his body, but
from within came the evil yet again. What was that
spirit within him, which, with the pliancy of a serpent,
coiled itself up, and crept into his conscience under the
cloak of universal love, and comforted him ? The saints
pray for us, the holy mother prays for us, Jesus Himself
has shed His blood for us. Was it weakness of mind or
the volatile feelings of youth that caused him sometimes
to think himself received into grace, and made him fancy
himself exalted by that — exalted over so many? For
had he not cast from him the vanities of the world?
Was he not a son of the Church ?

One day, after the lapse of many years, he met Angelo,
who recognised him.

' Man ! ' exclaimed Angelo. ' Yes, surely it is yourself.
Are you happy now ? You have sinned against God, for
you have thrown away His gracious gift, and abandoned
your mission into this world. Eead the parable of the
confided talent. The Master who related it spoke the
truth. What have you won or found ? Have you not

160 PSYCHE.

allotted to yourself a life of dreams ? Is your religion
not a mere coinage of the brain ? What if all be but a
dream — pretty yet fantastic thoughts ? '

' Away from me, Satan ! ' cried the monk, as he fled
from Angelo.

' There is a devil, a personified devil ! I saw him
to-day,' "groaned the monk. ' I only held out a finger to
him, and he seized my whole hand ! Ah, no ! ' he sighed.
4 In myself there is sin, and in that man there is sin ; but
he is not crushed by it — he goes with brow erect, and lives
in happiness. I seek my happiness in the consolations of
religion. If only they were consolations — if all here, as
in the world I left, were but pleasing thoughts ! They
are delusions, like the crimson skies of evening, like the
beautiful sea-blue tint on the distant hills. Close by
these look very different. Eternity, thou art like the
wide, interminable, calm-looking ocean : it beckons, calls
us, fills us with forebodings, and if we venture on it,
we sink, we disappear, die, cease to exist ! Delusions !
Begone ! away ! '

And tearless, lost in his own thoughts, he sat upon
his hard pallet ; then he knelt. Before whom ? The stone

PSYCHE. 161

cross that stood on the wall ? No, habit alone made him
kneel there.

And the deeper he looked into himself, the darker
became his thoughts. ' Nothing within, nothing with-
out— a lifetime wasted ! ' And that cold snowball of
thought rolled on, grew larger, crushed him, destroyed
him.

' To none dare I speak of the gnawing worm within
me ; my secret is my prisoner. If I could get rid of it, I
would be Thine, 0 God ! '

And a spirit of piety awoke and struggled within him.

' Lord ! Lord ! ' he exclaimed in his despair. ' Be
merciful, grant me faith! I despised and abandoned
Thy gracious gift — my mission into this world. I was
wanting in strength ; Thou hadst not bestowed that on
me. Immortal fame — Psyche — still lingers in my heart.
Begone I away ! They shall be buried like yonder
Psyche, the brightest gem of my life. That shall never
ascend from its dark grave.'

The star in the rose-tinted morn shone brightly — the
star that assuredly shall be extinguished and annihilated,
while the spirits of mankind live amidst celestial light.

162 PSYCHE.

Its trembling rays fell upon the white wall, but it in-
scribed no memorial there of the blessed trust in God,
of the grace, of the holy love, that dwell in the believer's
heart.

'Psyche within me can never die — it will live in
consciousness ! Can what is inconceivable be ? Yes,
yes ! For I myself am inconceivable. Thou art incon-
ceivable, 0 Lord ! The whole of Thy universe is incon-
ceivable— a work of power, of excellence, of love !

His eyes beamed with the brightest radiance for a
moment, and then became dim and corpse-like. The
church bells rang their funeral peal over him — the dead ;
and he was buried in earth brought from Jerusalem, and
mingled with the ashes of departed saints.

Some years afterwards the skeleton was taken up,
as had been the skeletons of the dead monks before him ;
it was attired in the brown cowl, with a rosary in its
hand, and it was placed in a niche among the human
bones which were found in the burying-ground of the
monastery. And the sun shone outside, and incense
perfumed the air within, and masses were said.

Years again went by.

PSYCHE. 163

The bones of the skeletons had fallen from each other,
and become mixed together. The skulls were gathered
and set up — they formed quite an outer wall to the
church. There stood also his skull in the burning sun-
shine : there were so many, many death's heads, that no
one knew now the names they had borne, nor his. And
see ! in the sunshine there moved something living within
the two eye-sockets. What could that be ? A motley-
coloured lizard had sprung into the interior of the skull,
and was passing out and in through the large empty
sockets of the eye. There was life now within that head,
where once grand ideas, bright dreams, love of art, and
excellence had dwelt — from whence hot tears had rolled,
and where had lived the hope of immortality. The
lizard sprang forth arid vanished ; the skull mouldered
away, and became dust in dust.

It was a century from that time. The clear star shone
unchanged, as brightly and beautifully as a thousand
years before; the dawn of day was red, fresh, and
blushing as a rosebud.

Where once had been a narrow street, with the ruins
of an ancient temple, stood now a convent. A grave?

164 PSYCHE.

was to be dug in the garden, for a young nun had died,
and at an early hour in the morning she was to be
buried. In digging the grave, the spade knocked against
a stone. Dazzling white it appeared — the pure marble
became visible. A round shoulder first presented itself;
the spade was used more cautiously, and a female head
was soon discovered, and then the wings of a butterfly.
From the grave in which the young nun was to be laid,
they raised, in the red morning light, a beautiful statue —
Psyche carved in the finest marble. ' How charming it
is ! how perfect ! — an exquisite work, from the most glo-
rious period of art ! ' it was said. Who could have been
the sculptor ? No one knew that — none knew him except
the clear star that had shone for a thousand years ; it
knew his earthly career, his trials, his weakness. But he
was dead, returned to the dust. Yet the result of his
greatest effort, the most admirable, which proved his
vast genius — Psyche- — that never can die ; that might
outlive fame. That was seen, appreciated, admired, and
loved.

The clear star in the rosy-streaked morn sent its
glittering ray upon Psyche, and upon the delighted

PSYCHE.

165

countenances of the admiring beholders, who saw a soul
created in the marble block.

All that is earthly returns to earth, and is forgotten ;
only the star in the infinite vault of heaven bears it in

Psyche.

remembrance. What is heavenly obtains renown from
its own excellence ; and when even renown shall fade,
Psyche shah1 still live.

THE SNAIL AND THE ROSEBUSH.

THE SNAIL AND THE EOSEBUSH.

BOUND a garden was a fence
of hazel bushes, and beyond
that were fields and meadows,
with cows and sheep ; but in
the centre of the garden stood
a Rosebush in full bloom.
Under it lay a Snail, who had a
great deal in him, according to
himself. ' Wait till my time
comes,' said he ; ' I shall do a
great deal more than to yield
roses, or to bear nuts, or to
give milk as the cows do.'

' I expect 'an immense deal
from you,' said the Rosebush.
' May I venture to ask when it
is to come forth ? '
I shall take my time,' replied the Snail. ' You are
z

170 THE SNAIL AND THE ROSEBUSH.

always in such a hurry with your work, that curiosity
about it is never excited.'

The following year the Snail lay, almost in the same
spot as formerly, in the sunshine under the Eosebush ; it
was already in bud, and the buds had begun to expand
into full-blown flowers, always fresh, always new. And
the Snail crept half out, stretched forth its feelers, and
then drew them in again.

'Everything looks just the same as last year; there
is no progress to be seen anywhere. The Eosebush is
covered with roses — it will never get beyond that.'

The summer passed, the autumn passed; the Eose-
bush had yielded roses and buds up to the time that the
snow fell. The weather became wet and tempestuous, the
Eosebush bowed down towards the ground, the Snail
crept into the earth.

A new year commenced, the Eosebush revived, and
the Snail came forth again.

' You are now only an old stick of a Eosebush,' said
he ; ' you must expect to wither away soon. You have
given the world all that was in you. Whether that were
worth much or not, is a question I have not time to take

THE SNAIL AND THE ROSEBUSH. 171

into consideration ; but this is certain, that you have not
done the least for your own improvement, els 3 something
very different might have been produced by you. Can
you deny this ? You will soon become only a bare stick.
Do you understand what I say ? '

' You alarm me,' cried the Eosebush. ' I never
thought of this.'

' No, you have never troubled yourself with thinking
much. But have you not occasionally reflected why you
blossomed, and in what way you blossomed — how in one
way and not in another ? '

' No,' answered the Eosebush ; ' I blossomed in glad-
ness, for I could not do otherwise. The sun was so
warm, the air so refreshing ; I drank of the clear dew and
the heavy rain ; I breathed — I lived ! There came up
from the ground a strength in me, there came a strength
from above. I experienced a degree of pleasure, always
new, always great, and I was obliged to blossom. It was
my life ; I could not do otherwise.'

' You have had a very easy life,' remarked the Snail.

' To be sure, much has been granted to me,' said the
Eosebush, 'but no more will be bestowed on me now.

172 THE SNAIL AND THE ROSEBUSH.

You have one of those meditative, deeply thinking minds,
one so endowed that you will astonish the world.'

' I have by no means any such design,' said the Snail.
' The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with
the world ? I have enough to do with myself, and enough
in myself.'

'But should we not in this earth ah1 give our best
assistance to others — contribute what we can ? Yes ! I
have only been able to give roses ; but you — you who
have got so much — what have you given to the world ?
What will you give it ? '

'What have I given? What will I give? I spit
upon it ! It is good for nothing ! I have no interest in it.
Produce your roses — you cannot do more than that —
let the hazel bushes bear nuts, let the cows give milk !
You have each of you your public ; I have mine within
myself. I am going into myself, and shall remain there.
The world is nothing to me.'

And so the Snail withdrew into his house, and closed
it up.

' What a sad pity it is ! ' exclaimed the Eosebush.
' I cannot creep into shelter, however much I might wish

THE SXAIL AND THE ROSEBUSH. 173

it. I must always spring out, spring out into roses. The
leaves fall off, and they fly away on the wind. But I saw
one of the roses laid in a psalm-book belonging to the
mistress of the house ; another of my roses was placed on
the breast of a young and beautiful girl, and another was
kissed by a child's soft lips in an ecstasy of joy. I was
so charmed at all this : it was a real happiness to me —
one of the pleasant remembrances of my life.'

And the Eosebush bloomed on in innocence, while
the Snail retired into his slimy house — the world was
nothing to him !

Years flew on.

The Snail had returned to earth, the Eosebush had
returned to earth, also the dried rose-leaf in the psalm-
book had disappeared, but new rosebushes bloomed in
the garden, and new snails were there ; they crept into
their houses, spitting — the world was nothing to them !

Shall we read their history too ? It would not be
different.

BENTLEY'S
POPULAR WORKS.

One Shilling and Sixpence.

Tales from Bentky, Vols. 1, 2, 3, and 4.

Two Shillings and Sixpence.

What to do with the Cold Mutton.

Everybody's Pudding Book ; or, Puddings, Tarts, &c., for all the Year round.

The Lady's Dessert Book. By the Author of 'Everybody's Pudding Book.'

Nelly Armstrong. A story of Edinburgh Life.

Rita : an Autobiography.

The Semi-Detached House. Edited by Lady Theresa Lewis.

The Semi-Attached Couple. By the same Author

The Ladies of Bever Hollow. By the Author of ' Mary Powell.'

Village Belles. By the same Author.

Easton. By Hon. Lena Eden.

The Season Ticket.

Notes on Noses. By Eden Warwick.

Salad for the Social. Books, Medicine, Lawyers, the Pulpit, &c.

Say and Seal. By the Author of ' Wide Wide World.'

Dr. Doran's Life of Queen Adelaide.

John T. Smith's Book for a Rainy Day.

Three Shillings and Sixpence.

Quits. By the Author of ' The Initials.'
Anthony Trollope's The Three Clerks.
Mary Powell's The Story of Italy.

Four Shillings.

Dr. M'Causland's Sermons in Stones ; or, Scripture Confirmed by Geology.
Lady Chatterton'a Translations from Plato.

Real and Beau Ideal. By the Author of ' Visiting my Relations.'
Taylor's (Rev. C. B.) Lady Mary ; or, Not of the World. Gilt edges.
Julia Kavanagh's Madeline, a Tale of Auvergne. Gilt edges.

BENTLEY'S POPULAR WORKS.

Five Shillings.

The Ingoldsby Legends ; or, Mirth and Marvels. 56th Thousand.
Francatelli's Cook's Guide. 100 Recipes and 40 Woodcuts. 15th Thousand.
Bentley BallaHs. The best Ballads and Songs from Berkley's Miscellany.

5th Thousand.

Lord Dundonald's Autobiography, with Portrait. 6th Tliousand.
Anecdotes of Animals. A Boy's Book, with eight spirited Illustrations by Wolff.

Handsomely bound, with gilt edges.
Ellet's Lives of Women Artists of all Ages and Countries. A Girl's Book.

Handsomely bound, gilt edges.
Mrs. Ellis' Mothers of Great Men.
Mrs. Ellis' Chapters on Wives.

Hervey's Hints to Christians on the Use of the Tongue.
Hayes' Arctic Boat Voyage. Beautifully bound.

Lamartine's Celebrated Characters. Nelson, Cromwell, Tell, Bossuet, Milton, &c.
Smith's Anecdotes of, the Streets of London, and of their more Celebrated

Residents.

Andersen's Stories from the Sandhills of Jutland.
Colonel Graham's History of the Art of War.
Dr. Maginn's Shakespeare Characters, Polonius, Falstaff, Bottom the Weaver,

Macbeth, Hamlet, &c.

Six Shillings.

The Last of the Cavaliers. With two Illustrations.
The Initials. With two Illustrations.
Mrs. Wood's East Lynne.

— — The Channings.

Mrs. Haliburton's Troubles.

Buckland's Curiosities of Natural History, First Series.

— Sec md Series. •

\Vilkie Collins' Notes taken afoot in Cornwall ; or, Rambles beyond Railways.
Mignet's Life of Mary Queen of Scots. Two Portraits.
Guizot's Life of Oliver Cromwell. Portrait.
James' Naval History of Great Britain. 6 vols. 6s. each.

'limbs' Anecdote Lives. First Series, State.-men, with Illustrations and Portrait.
Second Series, Painters. With Four Portraits.
Third Series, Wits and Humorists. With Portraits.
-. Fourth Series, Wits and Humorists. With Portraits.
Rev. Herman Douglas' Jerusalem the Golden, and the Way to it.
Thiers" History of the Great French Revolution. 5 vols. 6s. each, with forty-one

exquisite Engravings.
Dr. Stebbing's Lives of the Principal Italian Poets.

11