 
First published by Harper & Brothers, 1883 CONTENTS FOREWORDWritten more than fifty years ago—in 1883—What Social Classes Owe to Each Other is even more pertinent today than at the time of its first publication. Then the arguments and "movements" for penalizing the thrifty, energetic, and competent by placing upon them more and more of the burdens of the thriftless, lazy and incompetent, were just beginning to make headway in our country, wherein these "social reforms" now all but dominate political and so-called "social" thinking. Among the great nations of the world today, only the United States of America champions the rights of the individual as against the state and organized pressure groups, and our faith has been dangerously weakened—watered down by a blind and essentially false and cruel sentimentalism. In "Social Classes" Sumner defined and emphasized the basically important role in our social and economic development played by "The Forgotten Man." The misappropriation of this title and its application to a character the exact How often have you said: "If only someone had the vision to see and the courage and ability to state the truth about these false theories which today are attracting our youth and confusing well-meaning people everywhere!" Well, here is the answer to your prayer—the everlasting truth upon the greatest of issues in social science stated for you by the master of them all in this field. If this edition calls this great work to the attention of any of you for the first time, that alone will amply justify its republication. To those of you who have read it before, we commend it anew as the most up-to-date and best discussion you can find anywhere of the most important questions of these critical days. —William C. Mullendore Los Angeles, California Were these the inhabitants of the new home? FOOTNOTES: III.ToCTHE FATHER'S BROTHER.The people in the uncle's house, looked, thank heaven, like those whom Rudy was accustomed to see. But one cretin was there, a poor silly lad, one of the many miserable creatures, who on account of their poverty and need, always make their home among the families of Canton Valais and remain with each but a couple of months. The wretched Saperli happened to be there when Rudy arrived. Rudy's father's brother was still a vigorous hunter and was also a cooper by trade; his wife, a lively little person, had what is called a bird's face; her eyes resembled Everything was new to Rudy, the dress, manners and customs, yes, even the language, but that is soon acquired and understood by a child's ear. Here, they seemed to be better off, than in his grandfather's house; the dwelling rooms were larger, the walls looked gay with their chamois horns and highly polished rifles; over the door-way hung the picture of the blessed Virgin; alpine roses and a burning lamp stood before it. His uncle, was as we have said before, one of the most famous chamois hunters in the neighbourhood and also the most experienced and best guide. Rudy was to be the pet of the household, although there already was one, an old deaf and blind dog, whom they could no "One is not badly off in Canton Valais," said his uncle, "we have the chamois, they do not die out so soon as the mountain goat! It is a great deal better here now, than in the old times; they may talk about their glory as much as they please. The present time is much better, for a hole has been made in the purse and light and air let into our quiet valley. When old worn-out customs die away, something new springs forth!" said he. When uncle became talkative, he told of the years of his "The Frenchmen can beat the stones until they surrender! they cut the Simplon-road out of the rocks—they have hewn out such a road, that I now can tell a three year old child to go to Italy! Keep to the highway, and a child may find his way there!" Then the uncle would sing a French song and cry hurrah for Napoleon Bonaparte. Rudy now heard for the first time of France, of Lyons—the large city of the Rhone—for his uncle had been there. "I wonder if Rudy will become an agile One day when Rudy was out with his uncle hunting, he tried this sport. The rocky path was not wide; indeed there was scarcely any, only a narrow ledge, close to the dizzy abyss. The snow was half-thawed, the stones crumbled when trodden upon, and his uncle stretched himself out full length and crept along. Each stone as it broke away, fell, knocked itself, bounded and then rolled down; it made many leaps from one rocky wall to another until it found repose in the black deep. Rudy stood about a hundred steps behind his uncle on the outermost cliff, and saw a As they now were on their way home in the gayest spirits—his uncle playing one of his youthful melodies on his flute—they "Hold fast, Rudy," cried he, "firm, with your whole strength!" And Rudy clasped the trunk of a tree; his uncle climbed into its branches and held fast, whilst the avalanche rolled many fathoms away from them. But the air-drift of the blustering storm, which accompanied it, bowed down the trees and bushes Late in the evening, he returned with his message of death to his home, which was now one of sorrow. The wife stood without words, without tears, and not until the corpse was brought home did her sorrow find an outburst. The poor cretin crept to his bed and was not seen all day, but towards evening he came to Rudy, and said: "Write a letter for me. "A letter for you," asked Rudy, "and to whom?" "To our Lord Christ!" "What do you mean?" And the half-witted creature gave a touching glance at Rudy, folded his hands and said piously and solemnly: "Jesus Christ! Saperli wishes to send him a letter, praying him to let Saperli lie dead and not the man of this house!" And Rudy pressed his hand, "the letter cannot be sent, the letter will not give him back to us!" It was difficult for Rudy to explain the impossibility to him. "Now you are the stay of the house!" said his foster-mother, and Rudy became it. IV.ToCBABETTE.Who is the best shot in Canton Valais? The chamois knew only too well: "Beware of Rudy!" they could say. Who is the handsomest hunter?—"It is Rudy." The young girls said this also, but they did not say: "Beware of Rudy!" No, not even the grave mothers, for he nodded to them quite as amicably as to the young girls. He was so bold and gay, his cheeks were brown, his teeth fresh and white and his coal-black eyes glittered; he was a handsome young fellow and but twenty years old. The icy water did not sting him when he swam, he could turn around in it like a "He kissed me whilst dancing!" said the schoolmaster's Annette to her most intimate friend, but she should not have "Watch him," said an old hunter, "he has commenced with A, and he will kiss the whole alphabet through!" A kiss, at a dance, was all they could say in their gossipping, but he had kissed Annette, and she was by no means the flower of his heart. Down near Bex, between the great walnut trees, close by a rapid little stream, dwelt the rich miller. The dwelling-house was a large three-storied building, with little towers covered with wood and coated with sheets of lead, which shone in the sunshine and in the moonshine; the largest tower The miller was rich, and riches placed her much too high to be approached; "but no one," said Rudy to himself, "is placed so high as to be unapproachable; one must climb and one does not fall, when one does Now it so happened that Rudy had business at Bex and it was quite a journey there, for the railroad was not completed. The broad valley of Valais stretches itself from the glaciers of the Rhone, under the foot of the Simplon-mountain, between many varying mountain-heights, with its mighty river, the Rhone, which often swells and destroys everything, overflooding fields and roads. The valley makes a bend, between the towns of Sion and St. Maurice, like an elbow and becomes so narrow at Maurice, that there only remains sufficient room for the river bed and a cart way. Here an old tower stands like a sentry before the Canton Valais; it ends at this point and overlooks the bridge, which has a wall towards the custom-house. Now Rudy reached Bex, accomplished his business and looked about him, but he did not see a single miller's boy, not to speak of Babette. It appeared as though they were not to meet. It was evening, the air was heavy with the wild thyme and blooming linden, a glistening veil lay over the forest-clad mountains, there was a stillness over everything, but not the quiet of sleep. It seemed as though all nature retained her breath, as if she felt disposed to allow her image to be imprinted upon the firmament. "Never despair," said he. "I shall make a visit to the mill, and say: Good evening miller, good evening Babette! One does not fall when one does not think of it! Babette must see me, if I am to be her husband!" And Rudy laughed, was of good cheer and went to the mill; he knew what he wanted, he wanted Babette. The river, with its yellowish white water rolled on; the willow trees and the lindens bowed themselves deep in the hastening water; Rudy went along the path, and as it says in the old child's song: The house-cat stood on the step, put up her back and said: "Miau!" but Rudy had no thoughts for her language, he knocked, no one heard, no one opened. "Miau!" said the cat. If Rudy had been little, he would have understood the speech of animals and known that the cat told him: "There is no one at home!" He was obliged to cross over to the mill, to make inquiries, and here he had news. The master of the house was away on a journey, far away in the town of Interlaken—inter lacus, "between the lakes"—as the school-master, Annette's father, had explained, in his wisdom. Far away was the miller and Babette with him; there was to be a Poor Rudy, one could well say that he had not taken the happiest time to visit Bex; now he could return and that was what he did. He took the road over Sion and St. Maurice, back to his own valley, back to his own mountain, but he was not down-cast. On the following morning, when the sun rose, his good humour had returned, in fact it had never left him. "Babette is in Interlaken, many a day's journey from here!" said he to himself, "it is a long road thither, if one goes by the highway, but not so far if one passes over the rocks and that is the road for a chamois hunter! I went this road formerly, for there is my home, where I lived with With his light knapsack containing his Sunday clothes, with his gun and his huntsman's pouch, Rudy ascended the mountain. The short road, was a pretty long one, but the shooting-match had but commenced to-day and was to last more than a week; the miller and Babette were to remain the whole time, with their relations in Interlaken. Rudy crossed the Gemmi, for he wished to go to Grindelwald. He stepped forwards merry and well, out into the fresh, light mountain air. The valley sank beneath him, the horizon widened; here and there a snow-peak, and soon appeared the whole shining white At last he crossed the ridge of the mountain and the pasture-grounds and reached the valley of his home; the air was light and his spirits gay, mountain and valley stood resplendent with verdure and flowers. His heart was filled with youthful thoughts;—that one can never grow old, never die; but live, rule and enjoy;—free as a bird, light as a bird was he. The swallows flew by and sang as in his childhood: "We and you, and You and we!" All was happiness. Below lay the velvet-green meadow, with its brown wooden houses, the LÜtschine hummed and roared. He saw the glacier with its green glass edges and its black It was certainly a magnificent town; like no other, it seemed to Rudy. A Swiss town in its Sunday dress, was not like other trading-places, a mass of black stone houses, heavy, uninviting and stiff. No! it looked as though the wooden houses, on the mountain had run down into the green valley, to the clear, swift river and had ranged themselves in a row—a little in and out—so as to form a street, the most splendid of all streets, which had grown up since Rudy was here as a child. It appeared to him, that here all the pretty wooden houses that his grandfather had carved, and with which the cup-board at home used to be filled, had placed themselves What a quantity of well dressed ladies and gentlemen from foreign countries! What multitudes of inhabitants from the different cantons! The shooters, with their The marksmen thronged towards the spot where the target-shooting was; Rudy was soon among them and he was the best, the luckiest, for he always hit the mark. "Who can the strange hunter be?" they asked, "He speaks the French language as though he came from Canton Valais!" "He speaks our German very distinctly!" said others. "He is said to have lived in the neighbourhood of There was life in the youth; his eyes sparkled, his aim was true. Good luck gives courage, and Rudy had courage at all times; he soon had a large circle of friends around him, they praised him, they did homage to him, and Babette had almost entirely left his thoughts. At that moment a heavy hand struck him on the shoulder, and a gruff voice addressed him in the French tongue: "You are from Canton Valais?" Rudy turned around. A stout person, with a red, contented countenance, stood by him and that was the rich miller of Bex. He covered with his wide body, the slight pretty Babette, who however, soon peeped out with her beaming dark eyes. The rich peasant became consequential because the When one meets a countryman far from one's home, why then one knows one another, and speaks together. Rudy was the first at the shooting festival and the miller was the first at Bex, through his money and mill, and so the two men pressed each other's hands: this they had never done before. Babette also, gave Rudy her little hand and he pressed her's in return and looked at her, so—that she became quite red. The miller told of the long journey which they had made here, of the many large towns which they had seen—that was a real journey; they had come in the steam-boat and had been driven by post and rail! "But one can break one's neck," said the miller, "you look as though you would do so some day, you are so daring!" "One does not fall, when one does not think of it!" said Rudy. And the miller's family in Interlaken, with whom the miller and Babette were staying, begged Rudy to pay them a visit, for he was from the same canton as their relations. These were glad tidings for Rudy, fortune smiled upon him, as it always does on those that rely upon themselves and think upon the saying: "Our Lord gives us nuts, but he does not crack them for us!" Rudy made himself quite at home In the evening, they all walked under the walnut trees, in front of the decorated hÔtels; there was such a crowd, such a throng, that Rudy was obliged to offer his arm to Babette. "He was so rejoiced to have met people from Pays de Vaud," said he, "Pays de Vaud and Valais were good neighbourly cantons." His joy was so profound that it struck Babette, she must press his hand. They walked along almost like old acquaintances; she was so amusing, the darling little creature, it became her so prettily Rudy thought, when she described what was laughable and overdone in the dress of the ladies, and ridiculed their manners and walk. She did The sweet little mouth was not still a minute; everything that Babette said, sounded to Rudy of great importance. Then he related how often he had been in Bex, how well he knew the mill; how often he had seen Babette, but she of course had never remarked him; he told Yes, he said this; and he also said how much he thought of her; that it was for her sake and not on account of the shooting festival that he had come. Babette remained very still, for what he confided to her was almost too much joy. The sun set behind the rocky wall, whilst they were walking, and there stood the Jungfrau in all her radiant splendour, surrounded by the dark green circle of the adjacent mountains. The vast crowd of people stopped to look at it, Rudy and Babette also gazed upon its grandeur. "Nowhere!" said Rudy, and looked at Babette. "I must leave to-morrow!" said he, a little later. "Visit us in Bex," whispered Babette, "it will delight my father!" FOOTNOTES:
V.ToCHOMEWARDS.Ah! how much Rudy carried with him, as he went home the next morning over the mountains. Yes, there were three silver goblets, two very fine rifles and a silver coffee pot, which one could use if one wished to go to house-keeping; but he carried with him something far, far more important, far mightier, or rather that carried him over the high mountains. The weather was raw, moist and cold, grey and heavy; the clouds lowered over the mountain-tops like mourning veils, and enveloped the shining peaks of the rocks. The sound of the axe resounded from the depths of the forest, and the trunks of the trees rolled down the mountain, looking in Suddenly a young girl approached Rudy, whom he had not noticed before; not until she was beside him; she also was about crossing the mountain. Her eyes had so peculiar a power that one was forced to look into them; they were so strangely clear—clear as glass, so deep, so fathomless— "Have you a beloved one?" asked Rudy; for to have a beloved one was everything to him. "I have none!" said she, and laughed; but it was as though she was not speaking the truth. "Do not let us take a by-way," continued she, "we must go more to the left, that way is shorter!" "I know the road well," said she, "my thoughts are with me; yours are beneath in the valley; here on high, one must think on the Ice-Maiden, for they say she is not well disposed to mankind!" "I do not fear her," said Rudy, "she was forced to let me go when I was a child, so I suppose I can slip away from her now that I am older!" The darkness increased, the rain fell, the snow came; it shone and dazzled. "Give me your hand, I will help you to ascend!" said the girl, and touched him with icy-cold fingers. "You help me," said Rudy, "I do not yet need a woman's help in climbing!" He strode quickly on, away from her; the The snow fell more scantily and the shadows lay under him; he looked back, there was no one to be seen, but he heard laughing and jodling and it did not appear to come from a human being. When Rudy reached the uppermost portion of the mountain, where the rocky path leads to the valley of the Rhone, he saw in the direction of Chamouni, two bright stars, twinkling and shining in the clear streaks of blue; he thought of Babette, of himself, of his happiness and became warmed by his thoughts. VI.ToCTHE VISIT TO THE MILL."You bring princely things into the house!" said the old foster-mother, her singular eagle-eyes glistened and she made strange and hasty motions with her lean neck. "Fortune is with you, Rudy, I must kiss you, my sweet boy!" Rudy allowed himself to be kissed, but one could read in his countenance, that he but submitted to circumstances and to little household miseries. "How handsome you are, Rudy!" said the old woman. "Do not put notions into my head!" answered Rudy, and laughed, but still it pleased him. "Yes, I agree with you there!" said he; thought of Babette and longed to be in the deep valley. "They must have returned, two days have passed since they expected to do so. I must go to Bex!" Rudy went to Bex, and the inhabitants of the mill had returned; he was well received and they brought him greetings from the family at Interlaken. Babette did not talk much, she had grown silent; but her eyes spoke and that was quite enough for Rudy. The miller who generally liked to carry on the conversation—for he was accustomed to have every one laugh at his witty sayings and puns—was he not the rich miller?—seemed now to prefer to listen. Rudy recounted to him his hunting expeditions; described the difficulties, the In Canton Valais, not far from here, there was an eagle's nest, very slyly built under the projecting edge of the rock; a young one was in it, but no one could steal it! An Englishman had offered Rudy a few The wine and conversation flowed freely; but the evening appeared all too short for Rudy; yet it was past midnight, when he went home from his first visit to the mill. The light shone a little while longer through the window and between the green trees; the parlour-cat came out of an opening in the roof and the kitchen-cat came along the gutter. "Do you know the latest news at the mill?" said the parlour-cat, "there has been a silent betrothal in the house! Father does not yet know it, but Rudy and Babette have reached each other their paws under the table, and he trod three times on my "I should have done it, nevertheless!" said the kitchen-cat. "What is suited to the kitchen is not suited to the parlour," said the parlour-cat. "I should like to know what the miller will say, when he hears of the betrothal!" Yes, what the miller would say! That was what Rudy would have liked to know, for Rudy was not at all patient. When the omnibus rumbled over the bridge of the Rhone, between Valais and Pays de Vaud not many days after, Rudy sat in it and was of good cheer; filled with pleasing thoughts of the "Yes," of the same evening. When evening came and the omnibus returned, yes, there sat Rudy within, but the parlour-cat, was running about in the mill with great news. "But what was said?" asked the kitchen-cat. "Said? Everything. 'I care for her and she cares for me! When there is milk enough in the jug for one, there is milk enough in the jug for two!' 'But she is placed too high for you,' said the miller, 'she sits on gold dust, so now you know it; you can not reach her!' 'Nothing is too high; he who wills can reach anything!' said Rudy. He is too headstrong on this subject! 'But you cannot reach the eaglet, you said so yourself lately! Babette is still higher!' 'I will have them both!' said Rudy. 'Yes, I will bestow her upon you, "'Thanks for your visit, Rudy! Come again to-morrow, you will find no one at home. Farewell, Rudy!' Babette said farewell also, as sorrowfully as a kitten, that cannot see its mother. 'A word is a word, a man is a man,' said Rudy, 'do not weep Babette, I shall bring the eaglet!' 'I hope that you will break your neck!' said the miller. That's what I call an overturning! Now Rudy has gone, and Babette sits and weeps; but the miller sings in German, he learned to do so whilst on his journey! I do not intend to trouble myself any longer about it, it does no good!" "There is still a prospect!" said the kitchen-cat. VII.ToCTHE EAGLE'S NEST.Merry and loud sounded the jodel from the mountain-path, it indicated good humour and joyous courage; it was Rudy; he was going to his friend Vesinand. "You must help me! We will take Ragli with us; I am going after the eaglet on the brink of the rock!" "Do you not wish to go after the black spot in the moon? That is quite as easy," said Vesinand; "you are in a good humour!" "Yes, because I am thinking of my wedding; but seriously, you shall know how my affairs stand!" Vesinand and Ragli soon knew what Rudy wished. "One does not fall, when one does not think of it!" said Rudy. About mid-day, they set out with poles, ladders and ropes; their path lay through bushes and brambles, over the rolling stones, up, up in the dark night. The water rushed beneath them; the water flowed above them and the humid clouds chased each other in the air. The hunters approached the steep brink of the rock; it became darker and darker, the rocky walls almost met; high above them in the narrow fissure the air penetrated and gave light. Under their feet there was a deep abyss with its roaring waters. They all three sat still, awaiting the grey of the morning; then the eagle would fly out; they must shoot him before they could A crashing, whizzing noise sounded high above them; a large hovering object darkened the air. Two rifle barrels were aimed as the black eagle flew from its nest; a shot was heard, the out-spread wings moved an instant, then the bird slowly sank as if it wished to fill the entire cliff with its outstretched wings and bury the huntsmen in its fall. The eagle sank in the deep; the branches of the trees and bushes cracked, broken by the fall of the bird. They now displayed their activity; three of the longest ladders were tied together; they stood them on the farthest point where It was an ice-cold morning, and the mist mounted from the black ravine. Rudy sat there like a fly on a rocking blade of grass, which a nest-building bird has dropped in its hasty flight, on the edge of a factory chimney; but the fly had the advantage of He gave the ladders a swinging motion—as the spider swings herself by her long thread—he seized them with a strong and steady hand, but they shook as if they had worn-out hasps. The five long ladders looked like a tremulous reed, as they reached the nest and hung perpendicularly over the rocky wall. Now came the most dangerous part; Rudy had to climb as a cat climbs; but Rudy could do this, for the cat had taught it to him. He did not feel that Vertigo trod in the air behind him and stretched her polypus-like arms towards him. Now he stood on the highest round of the ladder and perceived "Now, I shall catch you!" "Hold fast, do not think that you will fall and then you are sure not to do so!" That was the old lesson, and he followed it; held fast, climbed, was sure not to fall and he did not. There resounded a strong jodling, and a joyous one too. Rudy stood on the firm, rocky ground with the young eaglet. VIII.ToCTHE NEWS WHICH THE PARLOUR-CAT RELATED."Here is what you demanded!" said Rudy, on entering the house of the miller at Bex, as he placed a large basket on the floor and took off the covering. Two yellow eyes, with black circles around them, fiery and wild, looked out as if they wished to set on fire, or to kill those around them. The short beak yawned ready to bite and the neck was red and downy. "The eaglet!" cried the miller. Babette screamed, jumped to one side and could neither turn her eyes from Rudy, nor from the eaglet. "You do not allow yourself to be frightened!" said the miller. "But why did you not break your neck?" asked the miller. "Because I held on firmly," answered Rudy, "and I hold firmly on Babette!" "First see that you have her!" said the miller and laughed; that was a good sign; Babette knew this. "Let us take the eaglet from the basket, it is terrible to see how he glares! How did you get him?" Rudy was obliged to recount his adventure, whilst the miller stared at him with eyes, which grew larger and larger. "With your courage and with your luck you could take care of three wives!" said the miller. "Thanks! Thanks!" cried Rudy. "Do you know the latest news in the mill?" said the parlour-cat to the kitchen-cat. "Rudy has brought us the young eagle and taken Babette in exchange. They have kissed each other and the father looked on. That is just as good as a betrothal; the old man did not overturn anything, he drew in his claws, took his nap and left the two seated, caressing each other. They have so much to relate, they will not get through till Christmas!" They had not finished at Christmas. The wind whistled through the brown foliage, the snow swept through the valley as it did on the high mountains. The Ice-Maiden sat in her proud castle and arrayed herself in her winter costume; the ice walls The Ice-Maiden rode on the blustering wind over the deepest valleys. The snow covering lay over all Bex; Rudy stayed in doors more than was his wont, and sat with Babette. The wedding was to take place in the summer; their friends talked so much of it that it often made their ears burn. All was sunshine with them, and the loveliest alpine rose was Babette, the sprightly, laughing Babette, who was as charming as the early spring; the spring that makes the birds sing, that will bring the summer time and the wedding day. IX.ToCTHE ICE-MAIDEN.The early spring time had unfolded the green leaves of the walnut and chestnut trees; they were remarkably luxuriant from the bridge of St. Maurice to the banks of the lake of Geneva. The Rhone, which rushes forth from its source, has under the green glacier the palace of the Ice-Maiden. She is carried by it and the sharp wind to the elevated snow-fields, where she extends herself on her damp cushions in the brilliant sunshine. There she sits and gazes, with far-seeing sight, upon the valley where mortals busily move about like so many ants. "Beings endowed with mental powers, as the children of the Sun, call you," said A smoke arose from the valley and moved along like a floating veil, like a waving plume; it was the locomotive which led the train over the newly built railroad—this crooked snake, whose limbs are formed of cars upon cars. It shot along with the speed of an arrow. "Now an avalanche is rolling!" said the men below. Still more loudly sang the children of the Sun; they sang of the "thoughts" of men which fetter the sea to the yoke, cut down mountains and fill up valleys; of human thoughts which rule the powers of nature. At this moment, a company of travellers crossed the snow-field where the Maiden sat; they had bound themselves firmly together with ropes, in order to form a large body on the smooth ice-field by the deep abyss. "Worms!" said she, "as if you were lords of creation!" She turned from them "There sit those thoughts in their power of strength! I see them all!—There sits one, proud as a king and alone! They sit in masses! There, half are asleep! When the steam-dragon stops, they will descend and go their way! The thoughts go out into the world!" She laughed. "There rolls another avalanche!" they said in the valley. "It will not catch us!" said two on the back of the steam dragon;—"two souls and one thought"—these were Rudy and Babette; the miller was there also. "As baggage," said he, "I go along, as the indispensable!" "There sit the two," said the Ice-Maiden, "I have crushed many a chamois; I have bent and broken millions of alpine "There rolls another avalanche!" they said in the valley. X.ToCTHE GOD-MOTHER.In Montreux, one of the adjoining towns, which with Clarens, Vernex and Crin forms a garland around the northeast part of the lake of Geneva, dwelt Babette's god-mother, a distinguished English lady, with her daughters and a young relation. Although she had but lately arrived, the miller had already made her his visit and announced Babette's engagement; had spoken of Rudy and the eaglet; of the visit to Interlaken and in short had told the whole story. This had rejoiced her in the highest degree, both for Rudy and Babette's sake, as well as for the miller's; they must all visit her—therefore they came. Babette was to see At the end of the lake of Geneva, by the little town of Villeneuve, lay the steam-boat which after half an hour's trip from Vernex, arrived at Montreux. This is one of the coasts which are sung of by the poets. Here sat Byron, by the deep bluish green lake, under the walnut trees and wrote his melodious verses upon the prisoner of the deep sombre castle of Chillon. Here, where Clarens with its weeping willows, mirrored itself in the waters, once wandered Rousseau and dreamt of HeloÏse. Yonder, where the Rhone glides along under Savoy's snow-topped mountains and not far from its mouth, in the lake lies a little island, indeed it is so small, that from the coast it is taken for a vessel. It is a valley between the rocks, which a lady caused to The little party wandered between the white, sunlighted walls, which surround the vineyards of the little mountain town of Montreux, through the fig-trees which flourish before every peasant's house and in whose gardens, the laurel and cypress trees are green. Half-way up the hill stood the boarding house where the god-mother resided. The reception was very cordial. The god-mother was a large amiable person and had a round smiling countenance; as a Richly bound books, loose music and drawings lay strewn about the large table; the balcony door stood open and one had a view of the beautiful out-spread lake, which was so shining, so still, that the mountains of Savoy with their little villages, their forest and their snowy peaks mirrored themselves in it. Rudy, who usually was so full of life, so merry and so daring, did not feel in his element; he moved about over the smooth When they came to Chillon, (the old sombre castle on the rocky island) they entered in order to see the dungeon and the martyr's stake, as well as the rusty chains on the wall; the stone bed for those condemned to death and the trap-door where the wretched beings impaled on iron goads, were hurled into the breakers. It was a place of execution elevated through Byron's song to the world of poetry. Rudy was sad, he lent over the broad stone sill of the window, gazed into the deep blue water and over to the little solitary island with "Yes, a perfect jackanapes!" said Rudy; this was the first time, that he had said something, that did not please her. The Englishman had presented her with a little book, as a souvenir of Chillon,—Byron's poem of "The Prisoner of Chillon," in the French language, so that Babette might read it. "The book may be good," said Rudy, "but the finely combed fellow that gave it to you does not please me!" "He looked like a meal-bag, without meal in it!" said the miller and laughed at his own wit. Rudy laughed and thought that this was very well said. XI.ToCTHE COUSIN.When Rudy came to the mill, a couple of days afterwards, he found the young Englishman there. Babette had just cooked some trout for him and had dressed them with parsley in order to make them appear more inviting. That was assuredly not necessary. What did the Englishman want here? Did he come in order to have Babette entertain and wait upon him? Rudy was jealous and that amused Babette; it rejoiced her, to learn the feelings of his heart, the strong as well as the weak ones. Until now love had been a play and she played with Rudy's whole heart; yet he The mill lay where the highway slopes—under the snow covered rocky heights—which are called here, in the language of the country "Diablerets" close to a rapid If Rudy was in the mill it would have been dreadful, but Rudy was not there; no, it was much worse, for he was below. There was loud conversation, angry words; there might be blows; yes, perhaps murder. Babette was terrified; she opened the window, called Rudy's name and begged him to go; she said she would not suffer him to remain. "You will not suffer me to remain," he exclaimed, "then it is a preconcerted thing! You were expecting other friends, friends better than myself; shame on you, Babette!" "I have not deserved this!" said he, and departed. His cheeks burned like fire, his heart burned like fire. Babette threw herself on her bed and wept. "So much as I love you, Rudy, how can you believe ill of me!" She was angry, very angry, and this was good for her; otherwise she would have sorrowed deeply; but now she could sleep, and she slept the strengthening sleep of youth. XII.ToCTHE EVIL POWERS.Rudy forsook Bex and went on his way home, in the fresh, cool air, up the snow-covered mountain, where the Ice-Maiden ruled. The leafy trees which lay beneath him, looked like potato vines; fir-trees and bushes became less frequent; the alpine roses grew in the snow, which lay in little spots like linen put out to bleach. There stood a blue anemone, he crushed it with the barrel of his gun. Higher up two chamois appeared and Rudy's eyes gained lustre and his thoughts took a new direction; but he was not near enough to make a good shot; he ascended still higher, where only stiff grass grows He felt a burning thirst; heat in his head, cold in all his limbs; he grasped his hunting flask, but it was empty; he had not thought of filling it when he rushed up the hill. He had never been ill, but now he was so; he was weary and had a desire to throw himself down to sleep, but everything was streaming with water. He endeavoured to collect his ideas, but all objects danced before his eyes. Suddenly he perceived a newly built house leaning against the rocks and in the doorway stood a young girl. Yes, it appeared to him that it was the schoolmaster's Annette, whom he had once kissed whilst dancing; but it was not "Where do you come from?" asked he. "I am at home," said she, "I tend my flock!" "Your flock, where do they pasture? Here are only cliffs and snow!" "You have a ready answer," said she and laughed; "below there is a charming meadow! There are my goats! I take good care of them! I lose none of them, what is mine, remains mine!" "You are bold!" said Rudy. "So are you!" answered she. "Have you any milk? Do give me some, my thirst is intolerable!" "I have something better than milk," said she, "and you shall have it! She brought the wine, poured it in a wooden cup and handed it to Rudy. "That is good," said he, "I have never drunk such a warming, such a fiery wine!" His eyes beamed, a life, a glow came over him; all sorrow and oppression seemed to die away; gushing, fresh human nature stirred itself within him. "Why this is the schoolmaster's Annette," exclaimed he, "give me a kiss!" "Yes, give me the beautiful ring, which you wear on your finger!" "My engagement ring?" "Just that one!" said the young girl and pouring wine into the cup, put it to his lips and he drank. Then the joy of life streamed The alpine maiden had vanished, the mountain hut had vanished, the water beat against the bare rocky walls and all around him lay snow. Rudy wet to the skin, trembled from cold and his ring had disappeared, his engagement ring, which Babette had given him. He tried to fire off his rifle which lay near him in the snow but it missed. Humid clouds lay in the clefts like firm masses of snow and Vertigo watched for her powerless prey; beneath him in the In the mill sat Babette and wept; Rudy had not been there for six days; he who had been so wrong; he who must beg her forgiveness, because she loved him with her whole heart. XIII.ToCIN THE MILLER'S HOUSE."What confusion!" said the parlour-cat to the kitchen-cat. "Now all is wrong between Rudy and Babette. She sits and weeps and he thinks no longer on her, I suppose. "I cannot bear it!" said the kitchen-cat. "Nor I," said the parlour-cat, "but I shall not worry myself any longer about it! Babette can take the red-whiskered one for a dear one, but he has not been here either, since he tried to get on the roof!" Within and without, the evil powers ruled, and Rudy knew this, and reflected upon what had taken place both around and within him, whilst upon the mountain. She must be able to confess to him and she should do so. "Now it is all arranged," said the parlour-cat, "Rudy is here again, they understand each other and that is a great happiness!" "Last night," said the kitchen-cat, "I "Neither of them," said the parlour-cat, "that is the surest way!" The greatest happiness for Rudy and Babette was drawing near; they were awaiting, so they said, their happiest day, their wedding day. But the wedding was not to be in the church of Bex, nor in the miller's house; the god-mother wished it to be solemnized near her, and the marriage ceremony was to take place in the beautiful little church of Montreux. The miller insisted that her desire should be fulfilled; he alone knew what the god-mother intended for the young couple; they were to receive a bridal present from her, which was well worth so "Then I suppose there will be a wedding here in the house, on the following day," said the parlour-cat, "otherwise, I would not give a single mew for the whole thing!" "There will be a feast here," said the kitchen-cat, "the ducks are slain, the pigeons necks wrung, and a whole deer hangs on the wall. My teeth itch just with looking on! To-morrow the journey commences!" Yes, to-morrow! Rudy and Babette sat together for the last time in the mill. Without was the alpine glow; the evening bells pealed; the daughters of the Sun sang: "What is for the best will take place!" XIV.ToCTHE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT.The sun had gone down; the clouds lowered themselves into the Rhone valley—between the high mountains; the wind blew from the south over the mountains—an African wind, a FÖhn,—which tore the clouds asunder. When the wind had passed, all was still for an instant; the parted clouds hung in fantastic forms between the forest-grown mountains. Over the hastening Rhone, their shapes resembled sea-monsters of the primeval world, soaring eagles of the air and leaping frogs of the ditches—they seemed to sink into the rapid stream and to sail on the river, yet they still floated in the air. The stream "The wedding guests are coming!" was whizzed and sung in the air and in the water. Visions without and visions within! Babette dreamt a wonderful dream. They flew from home. Steadily downwards. A weight lay upon her heart and it grew ever heavier. It was a sin against Rudy, a sin against God; suddenly she stood forsaken. Her clothes were torn by the thorns; her hair had grown grey; she looked up in her sorrow and she saw Rudy on the edge of the rock. She stretched her arms towards him, but she ventured neither to call, nor to implore him; but "Ah! would that I had died on my wedding day, my happiest day! Oh! my heavenly Father! That would have been a mercy, a life's happiness! Then we would have obtained, the best, that could have happened to us! No one knows his future!" In her impious sorrow, she threw herself down the steep precipice. It seemed as if a string broke, and a sorrowful tone resounded. Babette awoke—the dream was at an end and obliterated; but she knew that she had dreamt of something terrible, and of the young Englishman, whom she had neither seen, nor thought of, for many months. Rudy had already arrived, when she came down stairs, and they soon left for Villeneuve. They were so happy, the two, and the miller also; he laughed and was radiant with joy; he was a good father, an honest soul. "Now we are the masters of the house!" said the parlour-cat. XV.ToCCONCLUSION.It was not yet night, when the three joyous people reached Villeneuve and took their dinner. The miller seated himself in an arm-chair with his pipe and took a little nap. The betrothed went out of the town arm in arm, out on the carriage way, under the bush-grown rocks, to the deep bluish-green lake. Sombre Chillon, with its grey walls and heavy towers, mirrored itself in the clear water; but still nearer lay the little island, with its three acacias, and it looked like a bouquet on the lake. "How charming it must be there!" said Babette; she felt again the greatest desire to visit it, and this wish could be Rudy swung Babette three times around, and then they seated themselves on the little bench, under the acacias, looked into each other's eyes, held each other by the hand, and everything around them shone in the splendour of the setting sun. The It seemed to Rudy and Babette, that they had never seen such an alpine glow. The snow-covered Dent-du-Midi, had a lustre like the full moon, when it rises to the horizon. "So much beauty, so much happiness!" they both said. "Earth can give me no more," said Rudy, "I am so happy!" said she. "Earth can give me no more!" exclaimed Rudy. The evening bells resounded from the Savoy and Swiss mountains; the bluish-black Jura arose in golden splendour towards the west. "God give you that which is most excellent and best, Rudy!" said Babette. "He will do that," answered Rudy, "to-morrow I shall have it! To-morrow you will be entirely mine! Mine own, little, lovely wife!" The boat, which was to convey them back, had broken loose and was sailing from the island. "I will go for it!" said Rudy. He threw off his coat, drew off his boots, sprang in the lake and swam towards the boat. The clear, bluish-grey water of the ice mountains, was cold and deep. Rudy gave but a single glance and it seemed as though he saw a gold ring, rolling, shining and sporting—he thought on his lost engagement ring—and the ring grew larger, widened into a sparkling circle and within it shone the clear glacier; all about yawned endless deep chasms; the water dropped and sounded like a chime of bells, and shone with bluish-white flames. He saw in a second, what we must say in many long words. "Mine, mine!" sounded around him and within him. "I kissed you, when you were young, kissed you on your mouth! Now I kiss your feet, you are entirely mine!" Everything was still; the church bells stopped ringing; the last tones died away with the splendour of the red clouds. "You are mine!" sounded in the deep. "You are mine!" sounded from on high, from the infinite. How happy to fly from love to love, from earth to heaven! A string broke, a cry of grief was heard, the icy kiss of death conquered; the prelude ended; so that the drama of life might commence, discord melted into harmony.— Do you call this a sad story? Poor Babette! For her it was a period of anguish. The boat drifted farther and farther. No one on shore knew that the lovers were on the island. The evening darkened, the "Where can Rudy and Babette be in this frightful weather!" said the miller. Babette sat with folded hands, with her "In the deep water," said she to herself, "he is as far down as the glaciers!" She remembered what Rudy had related to her of his mother's death, of his preservation, and how he was withdrawn death-like, from the clefts of the glacier. "The Ice-Maiden has him again!" There was a flash of lightning, as dazzling as the sunlight on the white snow. Babette started up; at this instant, the sea rose like a glittering glacier; there stood the Ice-Maiden majestic, pale, blue, shining, and at her feet lay Rudy's corpse. "Mine!" said she, and then all around was fog and night and streaming water. "Cruel!" moaned Babette, "why must he die, now that the day of our happiness approached. God! Enlighten my God enlightened her heart. A thought like a ray of mercy, her last night's dream in all its vividness flashed through her; she remembered the words which she had spoken: "the wish for the best for herself and Rudy." "Woe is me! Was that the sinful seed in my heart? Did my dream foretell my future life? Is all this misery for my salvation? Me, miserable one!" Lamenting, sat she in the dark night. In the solemn stillness, sounded Rudy's last words; the last ones he had uttered: "Earth has no more happiness to give me!" She had heard it in the fullness of her joy, she heard it again in all the depths of her sorrow. A couple of years have passed since then. The lake smiles, the coast smiles; the vine branches are filled with ripe grapes; the steamboats glide along with waving flags and the pleasure boats float over the watery mirror, with their two expanded sails like white butterflies. The railroad to Chillon is opened; it leads into the Rhone valley; strangers alight at every station; they arrive with their red covered guide books and read of remarkable sights which are to be seen. They visit Chillon, they stand upon the little island, with its three acacias—out on the lake—and they read in the book about the betrothed ones, who sailed over one evening in the year 1856;—of the death of the bridegroom, and: "it was not till the next morning, that the despairing shrieks of the bride were heard on the coast!" There is a rosy hue on the snow of the mountains; there is a rosy hue in every heart, where the thought dwells, that: "God always gives us that which is best for us!" but it is not always revealed to us, as it once happened to Babette in her dream. The Butterfly."Sweet Margaret Daisy," said he, "of all the flowers you are the wisest woman! You can prophesy! Tell me, shall I obtain this one or that one? Which one? If I but know this, I can fly to the charming one at once, and pay my court!" Margaret did not answer. She could not bear to be called a woman, for she was a young girl, and when one is a young girl, one is not a woman. He asked again, he asked a third time, It was early spring time, and there was an abundance of snow-drops and crocuses. "They are very neat," said the butterfly, "pretty little confirmed ones, but a little green!" He, like all young men looked at older girls. From thence he flew to the anemones; but he found them a little too sentimental; the tulips, too showy; the broom, not of a good family; the linden blossoms, too small—then they had so many relations; as to the apple blossoms, why to look at them you would think them as healthy as roses, but to-day they blossom and to-morrow, if the wind blows, they drop off; a marriage with them would be too short. The pea blossom pleased him most, she was "How now, is that the way you look when older?" This terrified the butterfly and he flew away. The honeysuckles were hanging over the fence—young ladies with long faces and yellow skins—but he did not fancy their style of beauty. Yes, but which did he like? Ask him! The spring passed, the summer passed, and then came the autumn. The flowers appeared in their most beautiful dresses, but of what avail was this? The butterfly's But the mint stood stiff and still, and at last said: "Friendship—but nothing more! I am old and you are old! We can live very well for one another, but to marry? No! Do not let us make fools of ourselves in our old age." So the butterfly obtained no one. The butterfly remained a bachelor. Many violent and transient showers came late in the autumn; the wind blew so coldly down the back of the old willow trees, that it cracked within them. It did not do to fly about in summer garments, for even He flew against the window-panes, was seen, was run through by a pin and placed in a curiosity-box; one could not do more for him. "Now I also am seated on a stalk like a flower," said the butterfly, "it is not so comfortable after all! But it is as well as being married, for then one is tied down!" He consoled himself with this. "What a wretched consolation!" said the flower, that grew in the pot in the room. "One can not entirely trust to flowers The Psyche.Listen to one of these stories! A short time ago—(this not long ago is with us men—centuries)—my rays followed a young artist; it was in the realm of the Pope, in the city of the world, in Rome. Many changes have been made, but the imperial palace, was, as it is to-day, a ruin; between the overthrown marble columns and over the ruined bath-rooms, whose walls In a little narrow street, stood an old house, which had once been a temple; here dwelt a young artist; he was poor, he was unknown; it is true that he had young friends, artists also, young in feelings, in hopes, and in thoughts. They told him, "You are a dreamer," said they, "this is your misfortune! You have not yet lived, you have not inhaled life in large healthy draughts, you have not yet enjoyed it. One should do this in youth and become a man! Look at the great master Raphael whom the Pope honours and the world admires,—he takes wine and bread with him." "He dines with the baker's wife, the pretty Fornarina!" said Angelo, one of the merry young friends. Yes, they all appealed to his good sense and to his youth. One day he passed by one of the rich palaces, of which Rome has so many; he stood a moment at the large open entrance, and gazed into a little garden, full of the most beautiful roses, which was surrounded by archways, decorated with paintings. Large, white callas, with their green leaves, sprouted forth from marble shells, into which splashed clear water; a form glided by, a young girl, the daughter of this princely house, so elegant, so light, so charming! He had never seen so lovely a woman. Hold! yes, once, one made by Raphael, a painting of Psyche, in one of She lived in his thoughts and in his heart; he went home to his poor lodgings and formed a Psyche out of clay; it was the rich, young Roman girl, the princely woman, and he gazed at his work with satisfaction, for the first time. This had a signification—it was She. When his friends looked upon it, they exclaimed with joy, that this work was a revelation of his artistic greatness, which they had always recognized, but which now should be recognized by the whole world. Clay is natural, flesh like, but it has not the whiteness, the durability of marble; the Psyche must obtain life from the block of marble—and he had the most precious piece of marble. It had been the property of his parents, and had been lying many years, One day, it so happened—it is true, that the clear stars do not relate it, for they did not see it, but we know it—that a distinguished Roman party, came to view the young artist's work, of which they had casually heard. Who were the distinguished visitors? Poor young man! All too happy young man, one may call him also. Here in his room stood the young girl herself—with what a smile—when her father said: "You are that, living!" One cannot picture the look, one cannot render the look, the strange look with which she glanced at the young artist; it was a look which elevated, ennobled and—destroyed. It seemed as though a new era had dawned in the poor work-room; occupation, life and gayety, lighted it up. The beaming morning star saw how the work progressed. Even the clay had been endowed with a soul, since she had been there, and he bent entranced over the well known features. "Now I know what life is," he exclaimed with delight, "it is love! it is the elevation of the heart to the divine, it is rapture for the beautiful! What my friends call life and enjoyment, is perishable, like bubbles The marble block was erected, the chisel hewed away large pieces; the labourer's part was done, marks and points placed, until little by little, the stone became a body, a shape of beauty—the Psyche—as charming as was the woman made by God. The massive stone became a soaring, dancing, airy, light and graceful Psyche, with a heavenly, innocent smile, the smile that had been mirrored in the young sculptor's heart. The star, in the rosy-tinted morning saw, and partly understood what was agitating the mind of the young man; it understood as well, the varying colour of his checks and the glance of his eye, whilst he created, as though inspired by God. "My Psyche," he repeated, "mine, yes, that she must be! I am also an artist like the great departed ones! God has granted gifts of mercy to me, and has elevated me to the highly born!" He sank, weeping, on his knees and offered up his thanks to God—but forgot him again for her, for her portrait in marble, for the Psyche form, that stood before him, as though cut out of snow, blushing, in the morning sun. He should see her, the living, floating one, in reality; she, whose words sounded like music. He would himself carry the tidings, that the marble Psyche was completed, to the rich palace. He arrived, passed through the open court-yard, where This pomp, this splendour made him breathe a little heavily, but he soon felt She spoke with him! No Miserere, no church song could have melted the heart more, or have more elevated the soul, than did the music of her voice. He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips—no rose is so soft, but a fire proceeds from this rose—a fire streams through him and his breast heaves; words streamed from his lips, but he knew not what he said. Does the crater know that it throws forth burning lava? He told her his love. She stood there, surprised, insulted, proud, yes, scornful; "Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe—so excited was he—that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp. "Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. "What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!" What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop. "Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the young artist's blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts; to forget his old self—and to-day he followed Angelo. In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists; it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of the old They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls, models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks. How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood, fire in the "Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by the current within and without you!" "I never felt so well and joyous before!" said the young artist. "You are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man belongs to reality and not to fancy!" The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train. In Angelo's room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing, voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the "Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory! Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!" Yes, it did unfold—it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning, loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts, extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went home, sat down on his bed, and thought. "Fie!" sounded from his lips, from the bottom of his heart. "Miserable wretch! away! away!"—and he sighed sorrowfully. "Away! Away!" These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He At the dawn of day he started up.—What was this? Was it a dream? Were her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red pinks of the Campagna but a dream?—No, all was reality; he had not known this before. The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its form, but he could not view his work. Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was agitating this human heart. "Away! Away," was the short funereal service. The star in the rosy red atmosphere saw this, and two heavy tears trembled on the deathly pale cheeks of the fever sick one—sick unto death, as they called him. The lay brother Ignatius came to him The words fell like warm sun beams on the moist, fermenting ground; they dispersed and cleared away the misty clouds, from the troubled thoughts which had held possession of him; he gazed upon his past life; everything had been a failure, a deception—yes, had been. Art was an enchantress, that but leads us into vanity, into earthly pleasures. We become false to ourselves, false to our friends, false to our God. The serpent speaks ever in us: "Taste and thou shalt become like unto God." Now, for the first time, he appeared to understand himself, to have discovered the road to truth, to peace. Brother Ignatius supported him in these thoughts, and the decision was firmly made—a worldling became a servant of the church;—the young artist took leave of the world, and entered the cloister. How joyfully, how cordially the brothers greeted him! How festive the ordination! It seemed to him that God was in the sunshine of the church, and beamed within it, from the holy pictures and from the shining cross. He stood in the evening sunset, in his little cell, and opened his window and gazed in the spring-time over old Rome—with her broken temples, her massive, but dead Colosseum; her blooming acacias, her flourishing evergreens, her fragrant roses, Yes, the world here was a dream, and the dream ruled the hours and returned to hours again. But the life of a cloister is a life of many, many long years. Man is naturally impure and he felt this! What flames were these, that at times glowed through him? Was it the power of the Evil One, that caused these wild thoughts to rage constantly within him? He punished his body, but without effect. What portion of his mind was that, which wound itself around him, pliable as a serpent, and which crept about his conscience Was it a childlike feeling, or the levity of youth, that had induced him to give himself up to grace, and which made him feel elevated above so many? For had he not cast away the vanity of the world, was he not a son of the church? One day, after many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him. "Man," said he, "yes, it is you! Are you happy now? You have sinned against God, and cast his gifts of mercy away from you; you have gambled away your vocation for this world. Read the parable of the entrusted pledge. The Master who related it, spoke but truth! What have you won and found after all? Do not "Get thee from behind me, Satan!" said the monk, and forsook Angelo. "It is a devil, a devil personified! I saw him to-day," murmured the monk, "I reached him but a finger, and he took my whole hand! No," sighed he, "the wickedness is in myself; it is also in this man, but he is not tormented by it; he walks with elevated brow, he has his enjoyment; I but clutch at the consolation of the church for my welfare! But if this is only consolation! If all here consists of beautiful thoughts and but resemble those which beguiled me in the world? Is it but a deception like unto the beauty of the red evening clouds and like unto the blue "Deceit! away! away!" He sat tearless on his hard couch, desolate, kneeling—before whom? Before the stone cross which was placed in the wall? No, habit alone caused his body to bend. The deeper he read within himself, the darker all appeared to him. "Nothing within, nothing without! Life thrown away!" This thought, crushed him—expunged him. "I dare confide to none the doubts which consume me! My prisoner is my secret and if it escape I am lost!" The power of God, wrestled within him. The star beamed in the rosy red atmosphere, the star which will be lost and will vanish, whilst the soul lives and emits light. Its trembling ray fell upon the white wall, but it spoke not of the glory of God, of the grace, the eternal love which beams in the breast of every believer. "Can the Psyche never die?—Can one live with consciousness?—Can the impossible take place?—Yes! Yes! My being is inexplicable. Inconceivable art thou, oh His eyes beamed, his eyes closed. The peal of the church bells passed over the dead one. He was laid in holy ground and his ashes mingled with the dust of strangers. Years afterwards, his bones were exhumed and stood in a niche in the cloisters, as had stood those of the dead monks before him; they were dressed in the brown cowl, a rosary of beads placed in his hand, the sun shone without, incense perfumed within, and mass was read.— Years rolled by. The bones and legs fell asunder. They stood up the skulls, and with them, formed the whole outside wall of a church. There he stood in the burning sunshine; there were so many, many dead, they did not know their names, much less his. Centuries passed. Unchanged, the star, clear and large, beamed on as it had done for centuries. The atmosphere shone with a red rosy hue, fresh as roses, flaming as blood. Where there had once been a little street with the remains of an old temple, now stood a convent; a grave was dug in the "How magnificent! How perfect a master work!" they said. "Who can the artist be?" He was unknown. None knew him, save the clear star, which had been beaming for centuries; it knew the course of his earthly life, his trials, his failings; it knew that he was: "but a man!" But he was dead, dispersed as dust must The clear morning star in the rosy tinted sky, cast its most radiant beams upon the Psyche, and upon the smile of happiness about the mouth and eyes of the admiring ones, who beheld the soul, chiseled in the marble block. That which is earthly passes away, and is forgotten; only the star in the infinite knows of it. That which is heavenly surpasses renown; for renown, fame and earthly glory die away, but—the Psyche lives forever! The Snail and the Rose-Tree."Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the rose-tree still bears roses; it does not get along any farther!" The summer faded away, the autumn passed, the rose-tree constantly bore flowers and buds, until the snow fell, and the weather was raw and damp. The rose-tree bent itself towards the earth, the snail crept in the earth. A new year commenced; the roses came out, and the snail came out. "You startle me," said the rose-tree, "I have never thought upon that!" "No, I suppose that you have never meddled much with thinking! Can you tell me why you blossom? And how it comes to pass? How? Why?" "No," said the rose-tree, "I blossom "You have led a very easy life!" said the snail. "Certainly, everything has been given to me," said the rose-tree, "but still more has been given to you. You are one of those meditative, pensive, profound natures, one of the highly gifted, that astound the whole world!" "I have assuredly no such thought in my mind," said the snail, "the world is nothing to me! What have I to do with "But should we not all, here on earth, give the best part of us to others? Offer what we can!—It is true, that I have only given roses—but you? You who have received so much, what have you given to the world? What do you give her?" "What I have given? What I give? I spit upon her! She is good for nothing! I have nought to do with her. Put forth roses, you can do no more! Let the hazel bushes bear nuts! Let the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public, I have mine within myself! I retire within myself, and there I remain. The world is nothing to me!" And thereupon the snail withdrew into her house and closed it. And the rose-tree flowered in innocence, and the snail sat indifferently in her house. The world was nothing to her. And years passed away. The snail became earth to earth and the rose-tree became earth to earth; the remembrances in the hymn-book were also blown away—but new rose-trees bloomed in the garden, Shall we read the story of the past again? It will not be different.
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