Alas! 'Tis not sufficient to don a cap to become thine [Oe]dipus, O
Sphinx of All the Russias!
December, 1878.
NYMPHS
I was standing in front of a chain of beautiful mountains spread out in a semi-circle; the young, verdant forest clothed them from summit to base. The southern sky hung transparently blue above us; on high the sun beamed radiantly; below, half hidden in the grass, nimble brooks were babbling.
And there recurred to my mind an ancient legend about how, in the first century after the birth of Christ, a Grecian ship was sailing over the Aegean Sea.
It was midday…. The weather was calm. And suddenly, high up, over the head of the helmsman, some one uttered distinctly: "When thou shalt sail past the islands, cry in a loud voice, 'Great Pan is dead!'"
The helmsman was amazed … and frightened. But when the ship ran past the islands he called out: "Great Pan is dead!"
And thereupon, immediately, in answer to his shout, along the whole length of the shore (for the island was uninhabited), there resounded loud sobbing groans, prolonged wailing cries: "He is dead! Great Pan is dead!"
This legend recurred to my mind … and a strange thought flashed across my brain.—"What if I were to shout that call?"
But in view of the exultation which surrounded me I could not think of death, and with all the force at my command I shouted: "He is risen! Great Pan is risen!"