I was standing in front of a chain of beautiful mountains spread out in
a semi-circle; the young, verdant forest clothed them from summit to
base. The southern sky hung transparently blue above us; on high the sun
beamed radiantly; below, half hidden in the grass, nimble brooks were
babbling.
And there recurred to my mind an ancient legend about how, in the first
century after the birth of Christ, a Grecian ship was sailing over the
Aegean Sea.
It was midday.... The weather was calm. And suddenly, high up, over the
head of the helmsman, some one uttered distinctly: "When thou shalt sail
past the islands, cry in a loud voice, 'Great Pan is dead!'"
The helmsman was amazed ... and frightened. But when the ship ran past
the islands he called out: "Great Pan is dead!"
And thereupon, immediately, in answer to his shout, along the whole
length of the shore (for the island was uninhabited), there resounded
loud sobbing groans, prolonged wailing cries: "He is dead! Great Pan is
dead!"
This legend recurred to my mind ... and a strange thought flashed across
my brain.--"What if I were to shout that call?"
But in view of the exultation which surrounded me I could not think of
death, and with all the force at my command I shouted: "He is risen!
Great Pan is risen!"
And instantly,--oh, marvel!--in reply to my exclamation, along the whole
wide semi-circle of verdant mountains there rolled a vigorous laughter,
there arose a joyous chattering and splashing. "He is risen! Pan is
risen!" rustled youthful voices.--Everything there in front of me
suddenly broke into laughter more brilliant than the sun on high, more
sportive than the brooks which were babbling beneath the grass. The
hurried tramp of light footsteps became audible; athwart the green grove
flitted the marble whiteness of waving tunics, the vivid scarlet of
naked bodies.... It was nymphs, nymphs, dryads, bacchantes, running down
from the heights into the plain....
They made their appearance simultaneously along all the borders of the
forest. Curls fluttered on divine heads, graceful arms uplifted garlands
and cymbals, and laughter, sparkling, Olympian laughter, rippled and
rolled among them....
In front floats a goddess. She is taller and handsomer than all the
rest;--on her shoulders is a quiver; in her hands is a bow; upon her
curls, caught high, is the silvery sickle of the moon....
Diana, is it thou?
But suddenly the goddess halted ... and immediately, following her
example, all the nymphs came to a halt also. The ringing laughter died
away. I saw how the face of the goddess, suddenly rendered dumb, became
covered with a deathly pallor; I saw how her feet grew petrified, how
inexpressible terror parted her lips, strained wide her eyes, which were
fixed on the remote distance.... What had she descried? Where was she
gazing?