Fairy Tales

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 you’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