Legends from River & Mountain

by Carmen Sylva; Alma Strettell

Then a soft, cool breath stole in, bearing a perfume as from the most beautiful of gardens, and a silvery voice spoke:

“Help shall arise for thee out of a river. Only seek.”

Then she went to the Prince, her husband, and to her children, and bade them farewell, promising soon to return, and saying she now knew where to seek for that which should free them all from their misery. She spoke with such cheerful assurance that it brought trust and hope to every man, for she never told them that she did not even know what she was to seek.

Then, through the burning summer heat, she began a weary pilgrimage toward the rivers. Sometimes she would still chance upon a poor, starved little horse, that would carry her a short distance, and then fall down dead, even beneath her light weight. She went up the Olto river, the Gin, the Buzlu, the Sereth, all the rivers, both great and small. They flowed but meagrely over their stony beds, and those once mighty waters scarcely whispered as they went, they that of old were wont to rush and roar.

“Merciful God!” prayed the Princess, “let but a little cloud appear when I have found the river that is to help us!” But there arose no cloud. She was wandering for a second time up the banks of the Argesch, and was just about to turn sadly back, when she caught sight of the mouth of a little stream that she had not noticed before. She turned her steps hesitatingly in that direction, her heart growing heavier and heavier as she saw the stream grow smaller and more insignificant.

Wearied by her hard journey over the stones, she stood still a moment and sighed: “I can find nothing, nothing at all, and perchance my children are starving and dying! Perhaps my thought was but a foolish one—a cobweb of the brain, a lying fancy!” Even as she spoke a shadow seemed to fall upon her. She thought it was only caused by the tears which for the first time were filling her large, wan eyes. She wiped them off. Nay, there was indeed a shadow lying over the treeless waste; and when she raised her eyes, lo! the sun had hidden itself behind a tiny cloud, that yet was growing slowly larger.

Irina began to tremble for joy, that yet was mingled with dread. Had God heard her, or was it only another mistake? “Dear God,” she prayed again, “if this be the river, suffer the cloud to become larger and the rain to fall, for rain alone would be a blessing, and a great help to us in our need.” She went on a little—yes, the cloud was growing larger; she hurried forward, she ran, till she grew too weak to go farther; then a few great, heavy drops began to fall. She drank them in, with lips and eyes, with hands and hair. Now a light patter and plashing began round about her, and all at once a perfect waterspout broke forth. She struggled on in the wet loam of the river-bed as well as she could, till the stream began to swell, and dashed by in a brown, foaming flood, like a broad river. Sometimes she was forced to stand still and seek for her path, but yet she went on and on, for fear the rain should leave off. It rained all day and all night. The Princess was so wet that a stream flowed from her garments. But she wrung them out, girt them up higher, and still went on, for one whole day and night longer. Now she had reached the mountains, and often fell to the ground from exhaustion after her long journey. At last she lay down upon the river-bank and fell asleep, while the rain streamed down upon her, and the river rose higher and higher, as though it would have snatched her down and floated her away.

She awoke trembling with cold. There stood the gleaming sun, looking as fresh in the bright morning air as if he had had a bath himself. And behold! the river was no longer brown, but clear and blue as the air, and at the bottom of the water something shone and glittered like the sunbeams themselves. Irina again girt up her garments and waded in—she must see what it was that shone with so wondrous a gleam. And lo! it was pure gold. She fell on her knees, there in the stream, and gave God thanks, aloud and earnestly. Gold! gold! Now she could help! She went carefully on through the water and gathered up the golden grains and little fragments, filling her mantle with them, till the burden was almost too heavy for her. And now she hurried home with her treasure, and poured it out before her husband. Her children were yet alive, though weak and sorely exhausted; and they scarcely knew her again, she was so emaciated and sunburnt. Yet now messengers went forth into distant lands and bought corn, maize and hay, seeds and cattle; and the river never grew weary of giving till the famine was at an end, and laughing green, and sleek cattle, covered the Roumanian meadows once more. And the thankful people called the river Rîul Doamnei, and no one was to touch any of the gold therein, to possess it, save the Princess of the land.

But the Princesses who came after this one, no doubt made a less good use of their riches, for the river has become more niggardly, and the gold that the peasants still find in it now and then, is saved up for exhibition in the State Museum.