Legends from River & Mountain

by Carmen Sylva; Alma Strettell

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!”

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.