summit of the mountain, whence he could look away across the Danube
to the Balkans. There he stood still, and putting his horn to his
lips, sent forth a wailing note whose echoes spread far around. But at
the call his faithful dog rushed in pursuit, and was soon springing
round him, whining for joy; then, seizing his master’s shirt between
his teeth, he tried to drag him away toward the valley, so that Jonel
scarce knew how to resist, and was obliged at last, with tears in
his eyes, to speak roughly to the poor beast and drive him away with
stones. And now he had turned away his last friend, and was alone in
those desolate mountain wilds. Two eagles circled in the air beneath
him; save for this, all was motionless and silent.
He stretched himself upon the turf and sighed so deeply that his breast
seemed nigh to bursting. At last he fell asleep, from sheer heart-ache
and longing. When he awoke the clouds were rolling above his head and
gathering nearer and nearer; first they moved rapidly, then a sudden
calm seemed to fall upon them, and finally they closed about him in a
mist so dense that he could not see one step before his face. All at
once they appeared to take distinct form, and to be gliding round him
in the likeness of wondrously beautiful women, clad in shimmering,
snow-white garments, and holding one another by the hand. He rubbed his
eyes, for he thought he still dreamed; but presently he heard that they
were singing, a song so soft and low that it sounded as from afar off;
and now they stretched lily-white arms towards him, while from every
side came the cry, “Thou goodly youth, be mine, be mine! Come with me!”
[Illustration: From every side came the cry, “Thou goodly youth, be
mine! Come with me!”]
But he shook his head.
“Do not despise us,” cried one; “we will give thee such happiness as
shall make thee forget the valley for ever!” She parted the mist with
her hand, and there appeared before him a mountain meadow, carpeted
with flowers as he had never seen one before, and upon the meadow stood
a shepherd’s hut built of rose-leaves, and beside it was a spring,
whose pearly drops gushed out over the fresh green moss.
“Come, we will dwell there together!” called the fair one in silvery
tones. “Nay, come to me!” cried another, and before his very eyes
she built out of the mist a house that shone like a rainbow when the
sunbeams fell upon it. Inside it was as downy as though floor and walls
alike were of the softest wool; from the roof fell rainbow drops, and
no sooner did they touch the earth than grass and flowers sprang up
there. “We will dwell here,” cried the lovely maiden. “See, I will
adorn thee, even as I am adorned;” and she cast wreaths and chains of
the glittering drops about his head and his neck. But he shook them off
again. “One only may deck me,” he said, with a darkening brow; “only my
bride.”
“Then I will be thy bride!” exclaimed a third maiden. “See, here is my
dower!” And rolling the mist into balls, she made sheep of it, ever
more and more sheep, till the whole mountain--nay, all the mountains
and the sky itself were full of them. They were dazzling white, with
silver and gold bells about their necks, and everywhere fresh green
sprang up beneath their feet. For a moment the face of the lonely
shepherd cleared, but anon he waved the tempting picture aside. “I have
but one flock,” he said, “my own, and I desire no other.”
Then the mist grew thicker and darker again; he was soon surrounded by
black clouds once more, and from their midst the lightning flashed and
the thunder rolled dreadful and near. And in the thunder a voice spoke:
“Rash son of Earth, thou that hast dared despise us, to destruction
art thou doomed!” Then a fresh peal of thunder seemed to rend the very
mountain, and as it rolled on toward the valley, snowflakes began
to fall around Jonel, first lightly, then thicker and thicker, till
all the mountain-top was covered, and his cloak, his hair and his
eyebrows were frosted over. And, ’mid the soft patter of the descending
snow, the sweet voices rang out again in rich harmony, the sound of
shepherds’ pipes and Alpine horns mingled with their song, and a palace
built by unseen hands rose before him--a palace of snow so dazzling
in its radiance that now and again he had to shield his eyes from it.
And lo! when he looked up, the moon and the stars had assembled in the
palace, and illuminated it so that the walls shone quite transparent.
The moon sat enthroned on high upon a downy couch and watched the
stars, that were holding one another by the hand and dancing a _hora_.
The blacker the heavens became, the more stars flocked into the palace,
and whenever the moon beckoned, another little star left the sky and
hurried in. There were quite tiny stars, like children, that rolled
about with one another, and laughed and played at the feet of the
moon. Others marched in majestically, wearing a long train--a train
as long as the whole Bucegi, that swept over all the mountain-tops
and was borne by a host of little stars, all in shining dresses and
decked with wreaths and crowns of wondrous brightness. The gates of the
palace opened wider of their own accord as these mighty stars appeared.
And one of these commanded the moon to come down from her seat and do
obeisance. Then that star beckoned to Jonel and said, “Come, child of
man, be thou my consort; with me thou shalt range over the universe,
my little stars shall be thy servants, and thou thyself shalt bathe, a
shining star, in a flood of radiance!”
Jonel, without knowing it, had drawn close to the gateway, and was
listening to these entrancing tones, while the other stars all sang
together in soft accompaniment. Then the moon raised her head and
looked at him, and she was so like Irina that Jonel clutched at his
heart and cried out, “Nay, were the whole world at my feet, I would but
offer it to Irina!”
Then there arose a rustling, roaring sound, that ended in a fearful
crash--the stars swept by towards heaven, in an endless, mighty
train--the palace fell, burying Jonel in its ruins--and the moon gazed
down pale and sad upon the desolate snow-drifts.
But the dwarfs, who had heard the fearful crash overhead, now climbed
painfully forth from the recesses of the mountain to see whether their
roof were in danger. And so they discovered the vast heap of precious
stones of which the palace had been built, and began in great glee to
collect this costly treasure, and to drag it down into the fastnesses
of the mountain, where they heaped it up in their mighty vaults. Thus
they came upon poor Jonel, and since there was still some life left in
him, and he was so fair to look upon--far more so, certainly, than any
of themselves--they dragged him down too, with much trouble, and laid
him upon a couch of their softest moss. They drew water from both hot
and cold springs, washed and bathed him, and then carried him to the
great underground lake that feeds all earthly springs. After they had
plunged him once into those waters he awoke healed of all pain, and
looked about him in astonishment.
“Where am I?” he exclaimed at last. And well might he be amazed. For
above him vaults of shimmering rock rose to giddy heights and were lost
in darkness; and at his feet a lake stretched forth, so far, so far,
that it seemed as though it must fill up the whole earth within, and
it too was lost in dark distance. All around thousands of gnomes were
standing, running, or climbing; they wore long beards, and carried
lights, some in their girdles, some upon their heads. Countless hosts
of them were busy carrying jewels to the lake, washing them in its
water--whereby their radiance was greatly enhanced--and storing and
arranging them in chambers or upon heaps. Many of the gnomes came in
upon rafts, bringing treasure of hitherto unknown stones with them;
others loaded up rafts for a far voyage and pushed off from shore.
There was such a stir and din of lights and voices in the great vault
that Jonel was fairly bewildered. Yet all seemed to understand their
business quite clearly, save those who surrounded him, and they did
not appear to know what they should do with him. But a sudden longing
seized him to journey away into the unknown, dark distance, and he
hurried towards a raft that was just about to put off. Then there arose
from the waves a beautiful woman; she was as like to Irina as though
she had been her sister, and she stretched out her arms towards Jonel.
With a great cry of “Irina!” he would have flung himself down to her,
but that twenty strong arms held him back, and twenty others as strong
began to rain blows upon him. He made resistance, for the beautiful
woman still beckoned to him from the water; but his captors would not
let go their hold, and even began to stone him in their anger.
Then on a sudden there appeared before him a dwarf who wore a crown
upon his head, and who, commanding the others to desist, said, “Thou
art mistaken, Jonel; thy bride is not here; she waits for thee in the
valley. This is my appointed bride, and for her I have tarried many a
long year.” At this an angry look, that yet only enhanced her charm,
crossed the fair woman’s face, and with a threatening gesture she dived
beneath the waves.
The little king sighed, and Jonel sighed, and all the dwarfs, being
good, faithful subjects, sighed too; yet they still held their stones
in readiness, lest perchance Jonel should be condemned to die. But
the king gazed pityingly at the goodly shepherd-lad, and bade his
people wash him once more in the waters of the healing spring, since
he was bleeding from many wounds. With youth and beauty thus renewed,
he was escorted, by the king’s orders, to the mountain-top where they
had found him, and as the little monarch bade him farewell he added,
“Thou art surely to blame, Jonel; thou hast forgotten thy duty for
the sake of a fair woman. Thy faithfulness to her is beautiful and
great, but thine unfaithfulness to thy duty is greater; and though I
may understand the feeling that overmastered thee, I cannot avert the
punishment that awaits thee.”
With a heavy heart did Jonel take his stand once more upon the lonely
peak, around which the storm was still raging.
Its violence increased with every moment, as though it would fain have
cast down the solitary mortal from the height whereon he stood, to dash
him into a thousand pieces. Jonel took firm hold of a projection in the
rock, and glanced wildly about him, expecting to see new enemies, new
dangers and temptations, rise up on every side. He felt as though the
storm were crushing him to the earth, as though it were tearing and
dragging at his heart, as though he were dying of his agony and grief.
He clung yet more closely to the rock, that seemed to reel beneath the
pressure.
And amid the raging and the din round about him he caught sounds, now
as of many voices, and again as of one voice alone, calling, enticing,
threatening; then there was a blare of trumpets, that seemed to cleave
his very brain; and suddenly his love for Irina changed into bitter,
burning hate, since it was she who with laughing lips had sent him to
his death. Yea, he would wait out his time here, unshaken to the end;
but in spring he would go down and take leave of her with scorn, for
ever! No woman should possess his heart; that should be for his flock
alone, the flock he had shamefully forsaken.
Then there rang forth from the rock a deep and mighty voice: “Nay, lad!
thou art mine, in my power, irrevocably and for ever!” and in a moment
the rock changed into a giant woman’s form, that embraced Jonel with
stony arms and kissed him with lips of stone. In horror he strove
to free himself from her, and could not. “Who art thou?” he cried.
“Have all the powers of hell conspired together against me? Who art
thou--unless thou be Velva?”
But the woman had turned to rock again, and through the storm these
words echoed: “I am the Spirit of Yearning, and thou art mine--mine the
last lips thou shalt ever kiss.”
Then a great silence fell upon the place, and the sun broke forth from
behind the clouds. It shone upon a pale man, who stood leaning upon his
Alpine horn and gazing into the valley, and far away to the Danube. He
neither sighed nor moved, and the beating of his heart did not stir his
arms, which were folded upon his breast.
Save for the languid motion of his eyelids no one could have told that
he still lived. Anon the surrounding world began to awake to life. Ice
and snow melted and ran down in streams to the valley, while young
green crept forth upon the spots the snow had covered. But Jonel never
moved. The forest shook off its withered leaves and the new buds began
to swell. But Jonel never seemed to heed them. Up the mountain slopes
came the voices of twittering birds, and the sound of the woodland
streams rushing on under the warm rain. But Jonel did not hear. It
seemed as though all things living had drawn near to awaken him, yet in
vain; he only gazed forth toward the Danube, as though he were turned
to stone. Then all at once his face awoke to life, his eyes shone, a
faint colour came upon his cheek, and with open arms and outstretched
neck, he stood listening as the sound of barking dogs and tinkling
bells drew nearer. Now he could plainly see the white fleeces of his
flock, and he put his horn to his lips to sound a welcome. But even as
he did so he clutched at his heart, and wailing forth the words “I
die!” he sank upon the earth.
In vain did his dogs lick him lovingly on hands and face, in vain did
his _mioritza_ stand bleating beside him and his fellow-shepherds
call him by name; he lay still, with a happy smile upon his wan face,
and gave answer to none. The Alpine horn, whose voice his breath had
so lately stirred, lay broken beside him, and nought around him bore
witness to the battles the young warrior had fought. They buried him
where he lay, and named the mountain _Vîrful cu Dor_--“the Peak of
Yearning.” Often have I been up there and seen his grave, and the sheep
love to browse upon it still.
IV
FURNICA
[Illustration]
There was once a beautiful maiden, Viorica by name; she had hair like
gold, and eyes like the blue sky, and cheeks like carnations, and lips
like cherries, and her body was as lithe as the rushes that sway by the
riverside. All men rejoiced when they beheld this fair maiden, yet not
so much on account of her beauty as because of her wondrous diligence.
When she went to the spring with her pitcher on her head she carried
her distaff in her girdle and spun the while. She could weave too,
and embroider like a fairy. Her shifts were the finest in the whole
village, wrought with black and red stitches, and with wide seams of
broidery on the shoulders. She had adorned her petticoat, and even her
Sunday hose, with flowers wrought in the same way. In short, it seemed
as though the little hands could never rest; in field and meadow she
did as much work as in the house; and all the lads turned their eyes
upon the fair Viorica, who should one day be such a notable housewife.
But she never turned her eyes toward them; she would hear no talk of
marriage; there was plenty of time for that, she said, and she had to
care for her old mother. Thereupon the mother would bend her brows, and
say that, for her part, she thought a stalwart son-in-law would be but
a prop the more. But this troubled the little daughter, who would ask
whether she were of no more use at all, that the mother should be so
set upon having a man into the house.
“The men do but make a deal more work for us,” said she; “for we must
spin and stitch and weave for them as well as ourselves, and then we
never find time to get the field-labor done.”
Then the mother would sigh, and think of her dead son, for whom she had
made so many fine linen shirts, and washed them so dazzlingly white
that all the village maidens gazed their eyes out, looking after him.
It had never been too much trouble for her--but then, what will not a
mother do, indeed, and never be weary!
The hour came when Viorica had to own that her mother had been right
to wish for a son-in-law, even as though something had warned her that
she was not much longer for this world. She began to fail, and all her
daughter’s love was powerless to hold her upon earth. The fair maiden
had to close the beloved eyes; and now she was all alone in the little
house. For the first time, her hands lay idle in her lap. For whom,
indeed, should she work now? There was no one left to her.
One day, as she sat upon her threshold and gazed sadly forth, she saw
something long and black moving across the ground towards her; and,
behold! it was an endless procession of ants. No one could have told
whence the creeping host had travelled, it reached so far into the
distance. But now it halted, forming into a mighty circle round about
Viorica, and one or two of the ants stepped forth and spoke thus:
“Well do we know thee, Viorica, and oft have we admired thy industry,
which we may liken to our own; and that is a thing we seldom notice
among mortal men. We know, too, that thou art now alone in the world,
and so we pray thee to go hence with us and be our Queen. We will build
thee a palace, finer and larger than the largest house thou hast ever
seen. Only one thing thou must promise--that thou wilt never return to
dwell among men, but stay with us faithfully all thy life long.”
“I will stay with you gladly,” replied Viorica, “for I have nothing
more to hold me here except my mother’s grave; but that I must still
visit, and bring flowers, wine, and cake to it, and pray there for her
soul.”
“Thou shalt visit thy mother’s grave; only thou must speak with no man
on the way, else wilt thou be unfaithful to us, and our revenge shall
be terrible.”
So Viorica went forth with the ants, a far, far way, until they reached
the spot that seemed most fitting for the building of her palace. Then
Viorica saw how far the ants surpassed her in skill. How could she have
raised up such a building in so short a time? There were galleries,
one above another, leading into spacious halls, and farther yet, into
the innermost recesses where the pupæ, or infant ants, dwelt, that
were carried out whenever the sun shone, and brought quickly under
shelter again as often as there was a threatening of rain. The chambers
were daintily decked with the petals of flowers, fastened on to the
walls with pine needles; and Viorica learnt to spin cobwebs, out of
which canopies and coverlets were fashioned. Higher and higher grew
the building, but the apartment that was prepared for Viorica was more
beautiful than any vision of her dreams. Many galleries led to it,
so that she could hold communication with all her subjects with the
greatest rapidity. The floors of these galleries were laid over with
poppy-leaves, so that the feet of the Queen should rest on nothing but
purple. The doors were of rose-leaves, and the hinges were spiders’
threads, so that they could open and shut noiselessly. The floor of the
room was covered with a thick velvety carpet of edelweiss, into which
Viorica’s rosy feet sank softly down; for she needed to wear no shoes
here, they would have been far too clumsy, and would have trodden the
flower-carpets to pieces. The walls were hung with a tapestry cunningly
woven of carnations, lilies of the valley, and forget-me-nots, and
these flowers were constantly renewed, so that their freshness and
perfume were always entrancing. The ceiling had a tent-like covering of
lily-leaves stretched across it. The bed had taken the diligent little
ants many weeks to prepare; it was all made of pollen, the softest they
could find, and a cobweb of Viorica’s spinning was spread over it. When
she lay there asleep she was so lovely that the stars would have fallen
from heaven, could they have seen her. But the ants had built her room
in the most secret recesses of the palace, and guarded their beloved
Queen jealously and well; even they themselves scarcely dared to look
upon her in her sleep.
Life in the ant-hill could scarce have been made happier or fairer than
it was. One and all, they took a pride in doing the most they could,
and trying to surpass each other in pleasing their industrious Queen.
They were as quick as lightning in carrying out her every command;
for she never gave too many orders at once, and never unreasonable
ones; but her gentle voice sounded ever as though it were but giving
some friendly advice or opinion, and her eyes expressed her thanks in
a sunny glance. The ants often declared that they had the sunshine
dwelling within their house, and exulted over their good fortune. They
had made a special terrace for Viorica, where she could enjoy air and
sunlight when her room grew too confined; and from thence she could
observe the progress of the building, which was already as high as many
a mountain. One day she sat in her room embroidering a dress, upon
which she had sewn butterflies’ wings with the threads from a silkworm
that the ants had brought in for her. None but her dainty fingers could
have accomplished such a task. All on a sudden there was a tumult
round about her mountain; the sound of voices rang forth, and in a
moment all her little kingdom was thrown into alarm, and her subjects
came breathlessly crowding about their Queen and crying, “They are
overthrowing our house; evil men are trampling it down. Two, nay, three
galleries have fallen in, and the next is threatened. What shall we do?”
“Is that all?” asked Viorica calmly. “I will bid them stay their
course, and in a few days the galleries will be built up again.” She
hurried through the labyrinth of galleries, and appeared suddenly upon
her terrace. Looking down, she beheld a splendid youth, who had just
dismounted from his horse, and was engaged with some of his followers
in turning up the ant-hill with sword and lance. But when she appeared
they all stopped short, and the noble youth stood shielding his dazzled
eyes with his hand as he gazed upon the radiant figure in its shining
draperies. Viorica’s golden hair fell in waves to her very feet, a
delicate colour flooded her cheeks, and her eyes shone like stars. She
dropped them, indeed, a moment before the young man’s glance; but soon
she raised them again, and from her rosy mouth her voice came ringing
forth--
“Who are ye that have laid such rude hands upon my kingdom?”
“Forgive, fairest lady!” cried the youth, “and as surely as I am
a knight and a king’s son, I will henceforth be thy most zealous
defender! How could I guess that a fairy--nay, a goddess--reigned over
this kingdom?”
“I thank thee,” answered Viorica. “I need no other service save that
of my faithful subjects; and all I ask is, that no foot of mortal man
shall intrude upon my kingdom.”
With these words she disappeared as though the mountain had swallowed
her up, and those outside could not see how hosts of ants were kissing
her feet and escorting her back in triumph to her chamber, where she
took up her work once more as calmly as though nothing had happened.
And outside, there, before the mountain, the king’s son stood as though
in a dream, and for hours could not be prevailed upon to remount his
horse. He still kept hoping that the beautiful Queen would appear
again--even though it were with angry word and glance, he would at
least see her once more! But he only saw ants and yet more ants, in an
endless stream, busying themselves with all diligence in repairing the
mischief that his youthful thoughtlessness had occasioned. He could
have crushed them under foot in his anger and impatience, for they
seemed not to understand, or perhaps not even to hear, his questions,
and ran quite boldly in front of him, in their new-found sense of
security. At last he dejectedly mounted his steed, and so, plotting and
planning how he might win the loveliest maid his eyes had ever beheld,
he rode on through the forest till nightfall, to the great discontent
of his followers, who consigned both ant-hill and maiden to the devil,
as they thought of the supper-table and the bumpers of wine that had
long been awaiting them.