Legends from River & Mountain

by Carmen Sylva; Alma Strettell

“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?”