Fairy Tales

the short way, which was still quite long. But the competition was just starting that day and would last a good week. He’d been told that the miller and Babette would be at their relatives in Interlaken the whole time. Rudy headed for the Gemmi pass.⁸ He wanted to come down by Grindelwald.

Happy and healthy he set out, upwards in the fresh, light, invigorating mountain air. The valley sank deeper, the horizon became wider. First one and then another snow-topped mountain came into view, and then the whole shining chain of the Alps. Rudy knew every mountain. He headed towards Schreckhorn, which lifted its snow-powdered rocky finger high into the blue sky.

Finally he was across the high mountains. The grazing meadows sloped downward towards the valley of his childhood. The air was light, as was his mind. The mountains and valleys were filled with flowers and greenery. His heart was full of the thoughts of youth: I’ll never get old, I’ll never die. Live! Prevail! Enjoy! He was as free and light as a bird. And the swallows flew by and sang as they had in his childhood: “We and you, and you and we!” All was soaring and joyous.

Down below lay the velvet green meadow, studded with the brown wooden houses. The Lutschine river rushed and roared. He saw the glacier with its glass-green edges in the dirty snow and the deep clefts. He saw both the upper and lower glacier, and heard the bells ring in the church as if they were welcoming him home. His heart beat more strongly and filled with memories, so that Babette was forgotten there for a moment.

He walked again on that road where he had stood as a little fellow by the ditch with the other children selling carved wooden houses. Up there behind the fir trees grandfather’s house was still standing, but strangers lived there. Children who wanted to sell things came running down the road. One of them gave him a rhododendron. Rudy took this as a good sign and thought about Babette. Soon he was down and over the bridge, where the two Lutschine rivers run together. The deciduous trees increased, and the walnut trees gave shade. Then he saw waving flags, the white cross on a red background, as both Switzerland and Denmark have. In front of him lay Interlaken.

It was really a splendid city, like no other, thought Rudy. A Swiss town in its Sunday best. It wasn’t like other market cities—a crowd of big stone buildings, heavy, forbidding, and distinguished. No, here it looked like the wooden houses from the mountains had run down into the green valley by the clear, rapidly flowing river and had lined themselves up in rows, a little uneven, to make streets. The most magnificent of all the streets had appeared since Rudy had last been there as a boy. It was as if all the beautiful wooden houses grandfather had carved, and which the cabinet at home was full of, had positioned themselves here and grown up, like the old, the very oldest chestnut trees. Every house was a hotel, as they are called, with carved woodwork around the windows and balconies. They had projecting roofs, so neat and elegant, and there was a flower garden in front of each, all the way out to the paved road. The houses stood along the road, but just on one side. Otherwise they would have hidden the view of the fresh green meadow, where the cows grazed with bells that clang like they did in the high Alpine meadows. The meadow was surrounded by high mountains that seemed to step aside right in the middle so that you could clearly see the dazzling, snow-covered Jungfrau, the most beautifully shaped of all the Swiss mountains.

What a crowd of elegant gentleman and ladies from foreign countries! What a swarm of residents from the various cantons! The marksmen who were competing wore numbers on their hats. There was music and singing, barrel organs and wind instruments, shouting and noise. Houses and bridges were decorated with verses and emblems. Flags and banners were waving, and the guns fired shot after shot. This was the best music to Rudy’s ears, and with all this he completely forgot Babette, for whose sake he had come in the first place.

The marksmen wanted target practice, and Rudy was soon among them. He was the best and the luckiest. He always hit the bulls-eye.

“Who is that stranger, the very young hunter?” people asked. “He speaks French like they do in Valais canton. He can also make himself well understood in our German,” said some. “It’s said that he used to live in the district by Grindelwald as a child,” one of them knew.

There was life in the young fellow! His eyes shone. His eye was sure, and his arm was steady. That’s why he hit the mark. Success produces courage, and of course, Rudy had always had that. Soon he had a whole circle of friends around him. He was both acclaimed and applauded. Babette was nearly out of his thoughts. Then a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and a gruff voice asked him in French, “Are you from canton Valais?”

Rudy turned around and saw a fat man with a happy red face. It was the rich miller from Bex. Hidden behind his wide body was dainty delicate Babette, who soon peered around him with her radiant dark eyes. The rich miller was flattered that it was a hunter from his canton who was the best shot and was being praised. Rudy certainly was good fortune’s child! What he had wandered in search of, but had almost forgotten, had now sought him out.

When you meet someone from your home when you are far away, then you speak to each other like you know each other. Rudy was the best at the shooting competition, just as at home in Bex the miller was the best because of his money and his good mill. So the two men shook hands, which was something they had never done before. And Babette also took Rudy’s hand so innocently. He pressed her hand in return and looked intensely at her so that she blushed.

The miller talked about the long way they had traveled to get there, and of the many big cities they had seen. It was a real journey. They had sailed on a steamship, taken the train, and also the mail coach.

“I went the shorter way,” said Rudy. “I came over the mountains. No way is so high you can’t take it.”

“But you can also break your neck!” said the miller. “And you look like you’ll break your neck one day, as daring as you are!”

“You won’t fall if you don’t think you will,” said Rudy.

The miller’s relatives in Interlaken, where the miller and Babette were visiting, asked Rudy to stop by to see them. After all, he was from the same canton as their relatives. That was a good invitation for Rudy. Luck was with him, as it always is for those who believe in themselves and remember that “God gives us the nuts, but he doesn’t crack them open for us.”

And Rudy sat like part of the family with the miller’s relations, and a toast was proposed to the best shot. Babette toasted with him, and Rudy thanked them for the toast.

Towards evening they all went for a walk under the old walnut trees along the pretty street by the neat hotels. There were so many people, such crowds, that Rudy had to offer Babette his arm. He was so happy that he had met people from Vaud, he said. Vaud and Valais cantons were good neighbors. He expressed his joy so sincerely that Babette thought she should clasp his hand. They walked along almost like old friends, and she was so funny, the lovely little person! Rudy thought it so becoming the way she pointed out the comical and exaggerated in the foreign women’s dress and manner of walking. And it wasn’t to make fun of them because they could be very honest people, sweet and lovable, Babette knew that. She had a godmother who was a very distinguished English lady. Eighteen years ago, when Babette had been baptized, the godmother had been in Bex. She had given Babette