They were very warmly received. Godmother was a big, friendly woman with a round, smiling face. As a child she must have had one of Raphael’s cherub faces, but now she had an old angel’s face, surrounded by abundant silver-white curls. Her daughters were neat and elegant, tall and thin. Their young cousin, who was with them, was dressed in white from tip to toe. He had golden hair and such big gilded sideburns that they could have been divided among three gentlemen. He immediately paid the utmost attention to little Babette.
Richly bound books, sheets of music, and drawings lay spread across the big table. The balcony door stood open to the lovely view of the wide lake that was so calm and still that the mountains of Savoy with towns, forests and snowcaps were reflected in it upside down.
Rudy, who usually was so cheerful, lively, and confident, felt like a fish out of water, as they say. He acted as if he was walking on peas spread on a slippery floor. How slowly time passed! It was like a treadmill. And now they were going for a walk! That went just as slowly. Rudy had to take two steps forwards and one back to be in step with the others. They went down to Chillon, the sinister old castle on the rocky island, to see the torture stakes and cells of death, and rusty chains in the rocky wall. They saw stone bunks for the condemned, and the trap-doors through which poor unfortunates were pushed to fall impaled onto iron spikes in the surf. And this is supposed to be a pleasure to see! It was a place of execution, lifted into the world of poetry by Byron’s song. Rudy sensed the horror. He leaned against the big stone window ledge and looked down into the deep, blue-green water, and over to the lonely little island with the three acacia trees. He wished he were there, free of the whole prattling company, but Babette felt very happy. She had enjoyed herself tremendously, she said later. She thought the cousin was just perfect.
“Yes, a perfect fool,” said Rudy, and that was the first time Rudy said something that she didn’t like. The Englishman had given her a little book as a souvenir of Chillon. It was Byron’s The Prisoner of Chillon in a French translation so that Babette could read it.10
“The book might be all right,” said Rudy, “but that dandy who gave it to you didn’t make a hit with me.”
“He looked like a flour sack without flour in it,” said the miller and laughed at his joke. Rudy laughed too and said that he had hit the nail on the head.
11. THE COUSIN
When Rudy visited the mill a few days later, he found the young Englishman there. Babette was just serving him poached trout, which she herself had garnished with parsley to dress it up. That was totally unnecessary. What did the Englishman want? What was he doing here, served and waited on by Babette? Rudy was jealous, and that amused Babette. It pleased her to see all sides of him, the strong and the weak. Love was still a game, and she played with Rudy’s heart; and yet it must be said that he was her happiness, in all her thoughts, the best and most wonderful in the world. But the gloomier he looked, the more her eyes laughed. She would gladly have kissed the blond Englishman with the golden sideburns if it would have caused Rudy to run furiously away. That would have simply proved how much he loved her. It wasn’t right, wasn’t smart of little Babette, but she was only nineteen years old. She didn’t think about it, and thought even less of how her behavior could be interpreted by the young Englishman as more frivolous and irresponsible than what was appropriate for the miller’s modest, newly engaged daughter.
The road from Bex runs under the snow-covered mountain tops called Diablerets in French, and the mill was not far from a rapid mountain stream that ran whitish grey like whipped soapy water. But this wasn’t the stream that drove the mill. There was a smaller stream that rushed down from the cliffs on the other side of the river and through a stone culvert under the road where its power and speed lifted it into a wooden dam and then through a wide trough, over the larger river. This drove the mill wheel. The trough was so full of water that it flowed over, and so the rim presented a wet and slippery route for anyone who might think to use it as a short cut to the mill. This idea presented itself to the young Englishman. Dressed in white, like a mill worker, he climbed up there one evening, guided by the light in Babette’s window. He hadn’t learned how to climb and almost went head first in the stream, but he escaped with wet arms and splattered pants. Dripping wet and muddy, he came under Babette’s window, where he climbed up into the old linden tree and imitated the hoot of an owl. He couldn’t do any other bird calls. Babette heard it and peeked out through the thin curtains, but when she saw the man in white and realized who it was, her little heart beat with fright, but also with anger. She quickly put out the light, made sure that all the windows were hooked, and let him sit there howling and yowling.
It would be terrible if Rudy were at the mill now, but Rudy was not at the mill. No, it was much worse. He was right there below. She heard loud angry words. There was going to be a fight, maybe even a killing.
Babette opened the window in fright, called Rudy’s name, and asked him to leave. She said she couldn’t stand to have him stay.
“You can’t stand that I stay!” he yelled, “So you’ve arranged this! You’re expecting good friends, better than me! Shame on you, Babette!”
“You’re detestable!” said Babette. “I hate you!” and she started crying. “Go! Go!”
“I didn’t deserve this,” he said and he went. His cheeks were on fire, and so was his heart.
Babette threw herself crying on the bed.
“As much as I love you, Rudy! How can you think so badly of me!”
She was angry, very angry and that was a good thing for her. Otherwise she would have been broken-hearted. But she could fall asleep and sleep the refreshing sleep of youth.
12. EVIL POWERS
Rudy left Bex and took the road home, up the mountains in the fresh cooling air, where the snow lay, where the Ice Maiden ruled. The leafy trees stood deep below, as if they were the tops of potato plants. The spruce and bushes grew smaller. The rhododendrons grew in the snow in patches like linen laid out to bleach. He saw a blue gentian, and crushed it with the butt of his gun.
Higher up he saw two antelope, and a glint came to his eyes, and his thoughts went in a different direction. But he wasn’t close enough for a good shot. He climbed higher, where only a strip of grass grew between the boulders. The antelope were walking calmly on the snowfields. Eagerly he quickened his pace. Clouds of fog fell over him, and suddenly he was standing by the sheer cliff wall. Rain began to pour.
He felt a burning thirst, and his head was hot, but the rest of his body felt cold. He took out his flask, but it was empty. He hadn’t thought about it as he stormed up the mountain. He had never been sick, but now he knew what it felt like. He was tired. He just wanted to lie down and sleep, but everything was soaked with water. He tried to pull himself together, but objects shimmered so strangely before his eyes. But then he saw what he had never seen here before—a low, newly built house, right up against the cliff. There was a young girl standing in the doorway, and he thought it was the schoolmaster’s daughter Annette, whom he had once kissed while dancing. It wasn’t Annette, but he’d seen her before—maybe close to Grindelwald, the evening he returned from the shooting match in Interlaken.
“How did you get here?” he asked.
“I’m home,” she said. “I’m tending my herd.”
“Your herd? Where is it grazing? There’s only snow and rocks here.”
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” she said and laughed. “Down behind here a ways there’s good grazing. That’s where my goats are. I take good care of them and never lose one. What’s mine stays mine.”
“You’re pretty bold!” said Rudy.
“So are you!” she answered.
“If you have some milk, give me some because I’m so unbearably thirsty.”
“I have something better than milk,” she said. “And you shall have it! Some travelers came by here yesterday with their guide. They forgot half a bottle of wine, better than y
ou’ve ever tasted. They won’t come back for it, and I won’t drink it. You can drink it!”
And she brought out the wine, poured it into a wooden bowl, and gave it to Rudy.
“It’s good,” he said. “I’ve never tasted a wine so warming and full of fire!” His eyes shone, and a life and fervor arose in him as if all his sorrows and burdens evaporated. Natural human feelings arose in him, fresh and lively
“But you’re the schoolmaster’s Annette!” he exclaimed. “Give me a kiss!”
“Well, give me that pretty ring you wear on your finger!”
“My engagement ring?”
“That’s the one!” said the girl, poured wine in the bowl, and put it to his lips. He drank. The joy of living streamed through his blood. He felt like the whole world was his. Why worry? Everything is created to enjoy and make us happy! The current of life is a current of joy-be carried along by it—let yourself be carried by it! That is bliss. He looked at the young girl. It was Annette and yet not Annette, even less was she the phantom troll, as he had called her, whom he met by Grindelwald. The girl here on the mountain was as fresh as newly fallen snow, as lush as the rhododendron, and as light as a kid. But yet she was formed from Adam’s rib, a human being like Rudy. And he threw his arms around her, looked into her strange clear eyes—only for a second-and how to explain in words what he saw? Was it the spirit of life or death that filled him? Was he lifted up, or sunk down into the deep, killing ice chasm, deeper, always deeper? He saw the walls of ice like blue-green glass. Bottomless crevices gaped all around him, and water dripped tinkling like a clock and as clear as pearls, lighting with blue-white flames. The Ice Maiden gave him a kiss that sent a chill through his spine into his forehead. He gave a cry of pain, tore himself loose, tumbled and fell. His eyes closed in darkness, but he opened them again. Evil powers had played their tricks.
The mountain girl was gone. The sheltering hut was gone. Water was streaming down the naked cliff wall. Snow was all around. Rudy was shaking with cold, wet to the skin, and his ring was gone. The engagement ring Babette had given him. His gun lay in the snow by his side. He picked it up and tried to shoot, but it didn’t go off. Wet clouds lay like masses of snow in the crevices. vertigo was sitting there watching for powerless prey, and under her in the deep cleft there was a sound as if a boulder fell, crushing and sweeping away anything breaking its fall.
But at the mill Babette sat crying. Rudy had not been there for six days. Rudy, who was in the wrong, and who should ask her for forgiveness since she loved him with all her heart.
13. IN THE MILLER’S HOUSE
“Talk about frightful nonsense with those people!” said the housecat to the kitchen cat. “Babette and Rudy have broken up again. She’s crying, and he probably doesn’t think about her anymore.”
“I don’t like that!” said the kitchen cat.
“Me neither,” said the housecat, “but I’m not going to cry about it. Babette can just as well be sweethearts with the red sideburns. But he hasn’t been here either since he tried to climb up on the roof.”
Evil forces play their tricks, both outside and within us. Rudy had realized this and thought about it. What had happened around him and in him high up there on the mountain? Had he seen visions, or was it a feverish dream? He had never had a fever or been sick before. He had gained an insight into himself when he judged Babette. He thought about the wild chase in his heart, the hot Föhn that had blown there so lately. Could he confess everything to Babette? Every thought that in the moment of temptation could have become an action? He had lost her ring, and in that loss she had regained him. Would she confess to him? He felt like his heart would break to pieces when he thought about her. There were so many memories. He saw her large as life in front of him, laughing, a high-spirited child. Many a loving word that she had spoken in the fullness of her heart flew like a flash of sun into his breast, and soon there was nothing but sunshine there for Babette.
She must be able to confess to him, and she would!
He came to the mill. They confessed everything. It started with a kiss and ended with Rudy being the sinner. His big fault was that he had doubted Babette’s faithfulness. That was really abominable of him. Such distrust and such impetuosity could have led them both to disaster. Most assuredly! And therefore Babette delivered a little sermon to him. She enjoyed it, and it was most becoming, although in one respect Rudy was right: godmother’s relative was a fool. She would burn the book he had given her, and not keep anything that would remind her of him.
“Now it’s over and done with,” said the housecat. “Rudy is back. They understand each other, and they say that’s the greatest happiness.”
“Last night,” said the kitchen cat, “I heard the rats say that the greatest happiness is to eat tallow candles and to have plenty of tainted bacon. Whom should we believe, the rats or the sweethearts?”
“Neither of them,” said the housecat. “That’s always the best bet.”
The greatest happiness for Rudy and Babette still lay ahead. They still had the most beautiful day, as it’s called, in front of them—their wedding day.
But the wedding wasn’t going to be in the church in Bex, nor in the miller’s house. Godmother wanted the wedding to be celebrated at the bed and breakfast, and have the ceremony take place in the lovely little church in Montreux. The miller backed this request. He alone knew what godmother had in mind for the newlyweds. They would get a wedding gift from her that was certainly worth such a small concession. The day was set. They were going to travel to Villeneuve the evening before and take the boat over to Montreux in the morning in time for godmother’s daughters to dress the bride.
“I suppose they’ll have another wedding celebration here the day after,” said the housecat. “Otherwise, I don’t give a miaow for the whole thing!”
“There’s going to be a party,” said the kitchen cat. “Ducks have been butchered, doves beheaded, and there’s a whole deer hanging on the wall. It makes my mouth water to see it all. Tomorrow the trip begins!”
Yes, tomorrow! That evening Rudy and Babette sat at the mill for the last time as an engaged couple. Outside was the Alpenglow, the evening bells rang, and the daughters of the sunbeams sang, “What happens is always for the best.”
14. VISIONS IN THE NIGHT
The sun had set, and the clouds settled into the Rhone valley between the high mountains. The wind blew from the south, an African wind, down over the high Alps, the Föhn. It tore the clouds into fragments, and when it was gone there was a moment of complete stillness. The fragmented clouds hung in fantastic forms between the forest-clad mountains above the swiftly flowing Rhone River. They looked like prehistoric sea animals, like hovering eagles of the sky, and like leaping frogs from the marsh. They descended to the raging river and sailed on it, and yet they sailed in the air. The current was carrying an uprooted fir tree, and in front of it the water formed whirling eddies. It was Vertigo and her sisters, who were spinning around on the turbulent torrent. The moon shone on the snow of the mountain tops, on the dark forests, on the strange white clouds—night visions, spirits of nature’s powers. Mountain folk saw them through their windows. They sailed down there in flocks in front of the Ice Maiden. She came from her palace in the glacier, sitting on her flimsy ship, the uprooted fir. Water from the glacier carried her down the stream to the open lake.
“The wedding guests are coming,” was sighed and sung in air and water.
Visions outside and visions inside. Babette had a strange dream.
She had been married to Rudy for many years. He was out antelope hunting, but she was at home, and there with her was the young Englishman with the gilded sideburns. His eyes were so warm, and his words had a magical power. He reached out his hand to her, and she had to follow him. They walked away from her home. Always downwards! And it felt to Babette that there lay a burden on her heart that became heavier and heavier. It was a sin against Rudy, a sin against God. Suddenly she was alone. Her clothe
s had been torn to pieces by thorns. Her hair was grey. She looked upward in pain, and on the mountain edge she saw Rudy. She stretched her arms out towards him, but dared neither to shout nor pray, and it wouldn’t have helped because she soon saw that it wasn’t Rudy at all, but just his hunting jacket and hat, hanging on a walking stick the way hunters do, to trick the antelope. And in unbounded pain she whimpered, “Oh, if I could have died on my wedding day! My happiest day! Lord, my God, it would have been a mercy, the good fortune of my life. That would have been the best that could have happened for Rudy and me. No one knows his future!” And in godless grief she threw herself into the deep ravine. A string snapped, a song of sorrow sounded.
Babette woke up. The dream was over and forgotten, but she knew she had dreamed something terrible and dreamed about the young Englishman, whom she hadn’t seen or thought about for several months. Was he in Montreux? Would she see him at the wedding? A little shadow passed over her fine mouth, and she frowned. But soon she was smiling, and her eyes were sparkling again. The sun was shining so beautifully outside, and tomorrow was she and Rudy’s wedding day.
He was already in the living room when she came down, and soon they were off for Villeneuve. They were both so happy, and so was the miller. He laughed and beamed with the greatest good humor. He was a good father and an honest soul.
“Now we’re the masters of the house,” said the housecat.
15. THE END
It was not yet evening when the three happy people reached Villeneuve and had dinner. The miller sat in an easy chair with his pipe and took a little nap. The young couple walked arm in arm out of the town, on the road under the cliffs covered with bushes, along the deep blue-green lake. The sinister Chillon with its grey walls and thick towers was reflected in the clear water. Even closer was the little island with the three acacia trees. It looked like a bouquet on the water.
Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen Page 39