certain river in the depths of the valley, and would have to perform
her journey countless times before she could get together the requisite
number of stones, which, on the third day, were to be cast at her. If
her endurance failed beneath the stoning, she could not be king.
The oldest man of the tribe explained all this to her, and she listened
to him with a cheerful face.
The day came--a burning hot July day--and at sunrise Vijelia, clad in
a snowy woollen robe, took her stand upon a neighbouring hill-top. For
the first few hours she sang, as she stood there, in a full and ringing
voice; but as noon drew on, her lips and throat grew so dry, she was
fain to keep silence. The sun had already passed over the highest of
the mountain-peaks before she even changed her weight from one foot
to the other. Suddenly she heard the sound of hoofs ascending towards
her, and lo! her stags appeared, and, flying around her, fanned her
with a cool breeze from their wings; then her favourite hind drew near,
offering her full udders for her mistress to drink from. But Vijelia,
with stern voice, bade them all depart, and with drooping heads the
faithful creatures slank away to their pasture.
The hours crept slowly on, and the sun burnt so hot that the tips of
Vijelia’s golden locks were singed by it. But she did not stir.
When the sun was setting the men came and offered her a drink of water,
but she only moistened her lips with it, and called, “Mititica!” Then
the winged hind came flying up, and she took a little milk from her,
refusing all other nourishment.
King Briar gazed with anxious eyes at his beautiful daughter, but she
gave him a merry laugh, and said the first day had passed quickly and
easily indeed. When the darkness fell she went down to the river, and
plunged as many as ten times into its cool depths. Then she climbed the
bank, and sitting upon a mossy stone, began to shake out the coils of
her hair. The moon rose over the mountain-top and looked down upon the
maiden sitting there in her heavenly beauty, and tenderly did she shed
her beams upon her, so that the drops that were wrung from the golden
coils glittered like silver. The moon did not know that that perfect
body was to endure a cruel hail of stones, or she would have veiled her
face for very sadness.
When the second day dawned, there stood Vijelia in her short garment,
as fresh and cheerful as though no fatigue could ever touch her. When
the men came to fetch her down for this day’s work, she was ranging
over the hill upon her stag Graur, casting herself down upon his back,
and playing with his wings, like a child in the cradle. But now she
sprang down and dismissed the creature with a light touch of the hand;
then, taking a broad, flat fragment of rock upon her shoulder, she
carried it down into the valley, laid it beside the river’s edge, and
wading into the water, began to seek for stones, which she piled upon
it as high as it would hold.
“Help me up with it on to my shoulder,” said she. But none of the men
could lift the weight. Then she bent down, and, laughing, threw it on
to her left shoulder. Moreover, she made the men pick up the stones
that had slipped off the while, and throw them on to the heap with the
rest. Then she set off so fast up the hill that no one could follow
her, put down her load, and ran back to the valley again without
waiting to rest.
King Briar sat watching his daughter from the heights above, and
stroked his white beard in silence.
Long before the day had begun to decline, Vijelia had already collected
the prescribed number of stones. She crossed her arms and stood and
looked at the heap, without the smallest sign of flinching. King
Briar’s heart sank as he watched his child standing there, and he slept
but little that night. Yet she slept, quietly and soundly, beneath a
giant pine, through the branches of which the moonbeams stole to look
at the beautiful sleeper, lying with her head on her arms, her lips
slightly parted, in the sweetest, most childlike slumber.
When the dawn aroused her, she sought out a linen garment that she had
spun and woven herself, so that she could rely upon its strength.
And thus she appeared before her people, so fair that the heart of many
a one burnt within him at the thought of misusing her.
The heap of stones disappeared in a few minutes, for each man had armed
himself with one. Now they formed a great circle round the maiden, who
quietly gathered her hair up and fastened it in a knot.
“So that ye may not think my mantle shields me,” she explained, with a
smile.
The first stone sped from the hand of King Briar himself, who looked
his daughter firmly and earnestly in the face as he cast it. She
kissed the place on her arm where he had smitten her, and threw him a
kiss with both hands. Then she stood as still as a statue beneath the
hail of stones, though her anguish grew with every moment. Only once
a sigh escaped her, and she crossed her hands for a moment over her
breast--and the hands were so white! But she let her arms drop again
directly, and only turned her head aside, looking towards the sun, that
was slowly, very slowly, sinking nearer to the mountain-top, and bathed
the maiden’s face in a golden glow.
On a sudden the rain of stones ceased, and all the men knelt, with
lowered swords and lances, at her feet, while in solemn voices they
swore faith to her--eternal faith, and never to be broken.
But she raised her hand and spoke:--
“And I swear to you to work, to fight, and to endure, with and for you,
to my life’s end!” Then she turned to the King and whispered low to
him: “Give me thy hand, father; I am weary.”
The old man cast his mantle round her, and clasping his arm about her,
led her homewards. She leaned her head on his shoulder, but as she went
she felt something snuffing about her ear, and there was Graur, her
faithful stag.
“Ha, do thou carry me!” she cried, and kissing the beast’s warm, downy
nose, she sprang on his back and was out of sight in the twinkling
of an eye. Graur bore her down to the river, in which she bathed for
a long time, stretching and cooling her bruised limbs. She drank
greedily, too, of the ice-cold water, and then came dashing homewards
as merrily as though she had endured nothing.
For a while life went on again as of old, and Vijelia was once
more the same untamed creature that she had ever been--wild as the
storm-wind, and refusing to hear aught that concerned the affairs of
government. But King Briar aged visibly, and his people besieged him
with requests that he would choose a mate for his daughter, so that he
might soon hope to hold a fair grandson upon his knee.
“Whom wilt thou have for thy husband, my child?” he one day asked his
daughter. “Do none of our people please thee?”
“Nay,” answered Vijelia, “I cannot wed any of those who stoned me; I
should always remember it, and could not give myself to him in true
love. The man whom I shall love must come down from the air above, into
which none belonging to us can rise up--none save our winged stags.”
She had scarcely ceased speaking, when there appeared as it were a
mighty cloud, descending from the heavens, and from the midst of the
cloud the sound of a harp rang forth unearthly sweet. Slowly the cloud
sank earthwards, and now it disclosed to view a radiant youth, his head
covered with waving curls, who held in his hand a harp, that towered
aloft as high as the forest trees, and was strung with golden strings,
that glittered, like a rainbow, with a thousand changing hues. Now he
would smite the chords with a powerful hand, and again he would only
blow softly upon them, and then they sent forth such sounds as melted
the very heart in one’s breast.
Vijelia stood motionless, gazing up at him, and still she gazed on, as
he sprang boldly to the ground, and with a thrust of his hand sent back
the cloud that had brought him thither, away into the blue distance
above. And now he came straight toward the maiden, and stretching out
his hands to her, spoke thus:--
“I come from out the air; I am _Viscol_.[5] Wilt thou be mine, for I am
thine equal?”
“Yea,” answered the maiden, as though in a dream. “I will be thine, for
all time.”
But King Briar frowned, saying:
“And dost thou, indeed, love him already, my child? Have a care; for
thou wilt not find happiness at his side, and he is not fitted for our
people; he will ever be ranging far away over the skies and leaving
thee alone, till thy men will refuse to serve thee. Child, child, it
will come to a bad end, and thou wilt not be happy!”
“Happy or not, it is all alike to me, father. I cannot live without
him; and I would rather be miserable with him than happy with another!”
With a deep sigh, the old King consented to her wish; but he cut short
the promises and protestations of the youth with an impatient gesture
of the hand.
“I will judge thee by thine actions,” he said curtly.
At first all went merrily enough; now Vijelia would ride through the
heavens upon a cloud, and again, her husband would go forth with the
flying stags. But the King often heard his men complain that there was
much unrest in the land, and that the stranger had better never have
come.
Presently, however, Vijelia began to stay much at home with her father,
while her husband went rushing over the world. She spoke very little,
and looked far sadder than she had done upon the day of her stoning.
When she was asked where her husband was, she would hang her head and
answer, “I know not;” or again, if inquiry were made when he was
coming back, or when he would carry her forth with him upon the clouds,
still the answer was, “I know not.”
And when he did return he was rough and violent, and the more humbly
and quietly his young wife behaved, the more hardly he treated her.
Often did old King Briar’s beard tremble and his head droop toward the
earth, whereon, indeed, he soon laid him down, saying:
“I shall never see my fair grandson now! May the Great Spirit grant
thee, in him, the happiness thou hast not found for thyself!”
When he was dead, his men mourned night and day with lowered spears
around his grave, for nine times nine weeks. And Vijelia did not cease
from sighs and groans, until, in the midst of her great sorrow, a
wondrous fair but exceeding tender little son was laid in her arms.
Her tears rained down upon his tiny face as she gave him the name of
Zephyr. Alas! how was he ever to rule this mighty people, and how
withstand his father’s harsh usage?
She held him in her arms night and day, and never left him for an hour.
He lay upon her lap when she sat and pronounced sentence, or tried to
smooth over quarrels with all justice and wisdom.
When Viscol returned his anger knew no bounds. She had to defend the
fragile child like a lioness, for he would fain have dashed him to
pieces against a rock. He threw the whole land into an uproar; he gave
unjust judgments, and was a scourge indeed, until he dashed forth again
upon his wanderings. His harp, which he had forgotten, was, however,
a source of consolation and joy both to mother and child. She learnt
to play dirges upon it, to which all the people listened; but it was
sweeter yet when Zephyr breathed across the strings--then the whole air
seemed to be swelling with song, and the heart in every bosom melted
for delight.
Zephyr grew dazzlingly beautiful, all the more so since his mother
thought much of training and hardening him against the time of the
“King-choosing,” which she dreaded exceedingly for her tender boy. She
would trust him now to Graur, now to Mititica, who had to carry him for
hours, and use him to their quickest pace. But in the midst of these
rides Mititica would often kneel down and suffer him to suck a draught
of her milk. Vijelia, too, would run races with the boy, and teach him
to bend the bow and to bear heavy burdens; and, that he might become
used to pain, she would smite him with rods and pelt him with stones,
and if he did not laugh over it, but began to weep, she would call him
coward, and after bathing him in the coldest streams, would strike him
the next day yet harder, till he learnt to clench his teeth and laugh.
The people had such a hatred of Viscol that they would suffer him to
enter the land no more, and shot at him as soon as he drew near upon
his cloud. Some of them loved the boy for his noble mother’s sake, but
some bore a grudge against him, because he was so delicate and tender.
But when he played upon his harp all were enchanted, and, indeed, when
he stood beside the harp, his silky golden curls falling upon his
shoulders, he looked like a being from another world. He could not, it
is true, drive five stags at once, or bear such burdens as his mother
could; but he was far stronger than she had ever dared to hope, when
he reached his sixteenth year, and the men judged it was time to try
him and see if he were strong enough to be king. If it should chance
otherwise, they were ready to force upon Vijelia another husband,
chosen from amongst them, whose son might be expected to prove a
stalwart king.
Zephyr bore the heat of the sun the whole day without flinching, and
no one knew that all through the ensuing night he tossed to and fro in
fever, while his mother watched beside him and bathed his temples. The
next day he gathered the stones together, and his mother went beside
him all the while, and secretly lent a helping hand. When evening came
and the darkness covered them, he sank fainting into her arms. And
now dawned the day, of which the unhappy mother stood in such dread.
Every stone that struck her boy’s fair body smote her in the heart.
Once she saw him reel, but her clear voice, ringing out in cheery
encouragement, brought back the colour to his cheeks and the smile to
his white lips. There were only a few more stones yet to come, when
one, cast by a spiteful hand, sped forth, sharp and pointed, and struck
the lad upon the temple. A wild cry burst from his mother, who flew to
catch her fainting child in her arms, and kneeling down, pressed his
blood-stained locks to her heart. He opened his eyes once more. “My
harp--bring me the harp!” he whispered, and clasping it in his arms, he
breathed out his pure soul into those chords, till the heavenly sound
echoed on and on, vibrating ever further upon the air. But the poor
mother rose up with fixed and terrible gaze, and lifting her arms to
the clouds, she cried, “May ye then turn to stone, O ye men of stone!
The Great Spirit will hear a mother’s voice, that cries aloud for
vengeance! Stone shall ye become, who have broken faith with me!
Stone shall ye become, who have cast out the purest spirit among you!”
[Illustration: But the poor mother rose up with fixed and terrible
gaze, and lifting her arms to the clouds, she cried, “May ye then turn
to stone!”]
And behold! before her eyes the people, as they stood in a circle,
were turned to stone. But she sighed so deeply that the sighs burst
her bosom, and went forth in wails of sorrow to tell the world of a
mother’s woe, and to shake the foundations of the world, that had
wrought such evil!
And the winged stags rose up into the air and disappeared for ever.
VII
THE WITCH’S STRONGHOLD
[Illustration]
Going up the Prahova valley one cannot see “Cetatea Babei,” the
Witch’s Castle, because it is hidden by the Bucegi Mountain. It is a
jagged peak, and looks as though it were covered with ruins. A field
of eternal snow lies between it and the Jipi. In far-off times, when
wolves guarded the flocks, and eagles and doves made their nests
together, a proud castle stood there, and within the castle busy
doings went on. From morning till night it rang with pattering,
clanging, bustling sounds, and hundreds of hasty footsteps scurried to
and fro therein. But at night-time a light shone forth from the tower,
and the humming of a mighty wheel was heard, and above the hum of the
wheel a wondrous, soft song seemed to hover, keeping time with it. Then
people would glance fearfully up toward the castle and whisper: “She
is spinning again!” And she who sat spinning there was the mistress of
the castle, a very evil witch, to whom the mountain-dwarfs brought all
the gold that they found in the depths of the earth, that she might
spin threads of gold for all the brides to wear upon their heads on
their wedding-day.[6] The gold was unloaded in heaps in her castle,
and she weighed it and chose it out--and woe to the dwarf who did not
bring the required weight; he was thrust between the stem and bark of
a huge tree, and squeezed until he gave up the very uttermost grain of
gold; or he would be caught by the beard only in the tree, and there
he might struggle and writhe as he pleased, and cry for mercy--the old
witch turned a deaf ear to it all. The name of _Baba Coaja_ (“Mother
Bark”) had been given her, perhaps because of this cruel custom of
hers, perhaps because she was as hard as a stale crust of bread, and as
wrinkled as the stem of an old oak. She alone understood the spinning
of the golden threads, and she went on preparing them for hundreds of
years in advance.
Baba Coaja had a wondrously beautiful daughter, named _Alba_ (“The
White One”), for she was as white as the snow that covered the
mountain-tops. Her skin was like velvet, and like velvet, too, were her
brown eyes, and her hair was like the gold-threads that her mother spun.
She was always kept shut up, for Baba Coaja had plenty of work for her
to do; and, besides, no one was to be allowed to see her, still less to
woo her. She had to wind all the golden thread on reels, and store it
up in underground cellars, ready for all those hundreds and hundreds
of years to come. This work was very burdensome to the sweet maiden,
because her mother would sing and mutter all sorts of evil spells and
sayings as she spun, so that a portion of sorrow and heartache was
already prepared for each bride, so soon as the golden threads should
have rested upon her head; and Alba thought sadly of all the trouble
that was being thus determined beforehand. Indeed, she once sat down
herself to the great wheel, while her mother was away, and spun a
length of thread into which she worked nothing but good wishes. But
when Baba Coaja came home she was very wroth, and beat her daughter
unmercifully, saying, as she threw the thread upon a heap with the
rest: “Thou shalt never wed until thou canst tell thine own spinning
apart again!”
In her heart the old witch was glad to have a pretext for keeping her
daughter to herself, for it had been prophesied that Alba would be very
unhappy, and would die young. The only being that she loved in the
world was her beautiful child, yet, however much trouble she took to
please her with fine clothes and all sorts of pretty trifles, she could
not bring a shade of colour to her cheek or a smile to her eyes, for
the only thing the maiden yearned after was freedom, and that was never
hers. How she longed to go wandering for once beneath the trees that
clothed the foot of the mountain whereon she dwelt. Up there nothing
grew, save a little short grass; and the winter lasted far longer than
the summer. When the wind howled round the castle, raging as though he
would tear it to pieces, then her heart would grow heavy indeed; she
would sit for hours before the hearth, staring into the fire, watching
the sparks fly, and thinking of nothing at all. Or again, she would
listen to her mother’s uncanny singing, while the humming of the wheel
and the howling of the storm mingled in one dreary accompaniment. And
then she would wonder why she spun so much sorrow for the brides into
the gold-threads--why men were not suffered to be happy and gay, out
there in the beautiful sunshine, for that always looked bright and
merry. But she could never make out the reason why, and would fall
asleep at last from sheer thinking. The great reels of gold in the
cellars all had one and the same face, yet she would play with them,
and pretend they were people, and make up their histories, and try
and fancy what would befall the brides that were to wear those golden
threads; but as she knew nothing of the world, all her stories were
very unlikely ones.
“Mother,” she asked one day, resting her chin upon her hand, “are the
people in the world just as we are, thou and I--or have they other
forms, and other thoughts?”
“What are the people in the world to thee? They are all very bad, and
would only do thee harm if they got hold of thee.”
“But a while ago a beautiful creature came up our mountain, and there
sat one upon him, one who was fairer far to see than any of the little
dwarfs; he had black locks, and no beard, and a purple mantle. Was not
that a man?”
[Illustration: “But a while ago a beautiful creature came up our
mountain.”]
The old witch was terror-stricken at this speech, and answered: “If he
does but ride up here again, I will break his neck for him, and those
in the valley shall never see him again!”
“Oh, mother! do not thus--he was so fair!”
“If thou dost think but once again of him, I tell thee I will lock
thee in the cellar, and make thee weigh gold out night and day. As it
is, thou art grown so idle in these latter times, and dost nought but
sit there and ask useless questions! Hast thou not all thy heart can
desire?”
“Nay, mother; I too would fain have a beautiful creature, such as
yonder man had, and sit upon it. Up here there are but sheep, and one
cannot sit upon them.”
“Now thou wouldst have a horse indeed, wouldst thou, foolish child!
Dost not see that it were dangerous to life to ride here? The grass
is slippery and the abyss deep. One false step, and thou wert lying
shattered to pieces down below.”
Alba thought over this for a long while, and wondered why it was
dangerous for horses to go where sheep could tread in safety; but to
this question also she got no reply, for she did not dare to ask it.
Only, the dwarfs appeared much uglier to her than before, and the gold
became so distasteful to her that she could not bear to look at it. She
constantly thought of the beautiful horse, and of the youth who was
to have his neck broken if he showed himself there again. Why did her
mother want to break his neck? This time, too, she found no answer,
however much she puzzled over the matter.
Some time after, the handsome youth rode up to the mountain again; he
was tormented by curiosity to discover who lived in that mighty castle,
whose walls were hewn out of the living rock. He was a king’s son, and
his name was Porfirie. He was not used to being unable to do things,
and any obstacle was welcome to his impetuous nature. When they spoke
to him of marriage, he was wont to reply that he should win his bride
from the clutches of a dragon, or pluck her down from a cliff, but
never have her tamely wooed for him by a deputy, and end up with a
commonplace wedding!
Just at that moment Alba was busy bedecking herself, by way of passing
the time, after having worked at reeling off gold all the morning. She
had bathed her hands and face, and combed her long hair with her ivory
comb, and about her brow she had bound a double row of pearls, in which
she had fastened an alpine rose sideways. Her robe was white, with a
golden girdle, and over it flowed a green velvet mantle, held on either
shoulder with chains of pearls. Around her snow-white throat she laid
a string of emeralds, as large as pigeons’ eggs, a present from the
mountain-dwarfs; and then she looked at herself in the glass, in which,
however, she could not see how her golden hair gleamed upon the green
velvet mantle. Indeed, she could not have seen aright at all, or the
glass was bad, for now she smote her face, crying: “How ugly I am!--oh,
how ugly! That is why my mother hides me from all men, and gives me
fine dresses, and jewels like a queen’s--that it may be forgotten how
ugly I am!”
Just then the sound of horses’ hoofs echoed among the rocks, and with
horror-stricken gaze she beheld the handsome stranger, who was to lose
his life if he appeared again before the castle. He must be warned at
any cost. She sprang like a wild goat down the mountain-side, with
fluttering mantle and waving hair, in which the sunbeams seemed to
catch as she went. The young King saw her speeding towards him over the
rocks, her feet scarcely seeming to touch the stones upon the way, and
reined in his horse in wonder-struck admiration. He asked himself what
princess, or mountain-fairy, this might be, flying down to him thus.
And now she waved both her arms, crying breathlessly: “Back, back! Do
not come up hither--it were thy death!”
“And though it should be my death,” he exclaimed, “I would die gladly,
seeing I have beheld the fairest maid that ever trod this earth!”