There was once a beautiful maiden, Viorica by name; she had hair like gold, and eyes like the blue sky, and cheeks like carnations, and lips like cherries, and her body was as lithe as the rushes that sway by the riverside. All men rejoiced when they beheld this fair maiden, yet not so much on account of her beauty as because of her wondrous diligence. When she went to the spring with her pitcher on her head she carried her distaff in her girdle and spun the while. She could weave too, and embroider like a fairy. Her shifts were the finest in the whole village, wrought with black and red stitches, and with wide seams of broidery on the shoulders. She had adorned her petticoat, and even her Sunday hose, with flowers wrought in the same way. In short, it seemed as though the little hands could never rest; in field and meadow she did as much work as in the house; and all the lads turned their eyes upon the fair Viorica, who should one day be such a notable housewife. But she never turned her eyes toward them; she would hear no talk of marriage; there was plenty of time for that, she said, and she had to care for her old mother. Thereupon the mother would bend her brows, and say that, for her part, she thought a stalwart son-in-law would be but a prop the more. But this troubled the little daughter, who would ask whether she were of no more use at all, that the mother should be so set upon having a man into the house.

“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?”

“Is that all?” asked Viorica calmly. “I will bid them stay their course, and in a few days the galleries will be built up again.” She hurried through the labyrinth of galleries, and appeared suddenly upon her terrace. Looking down, she beheld a splendid youth, who had just dismounted from his horse, and was engaged with some of his followers in turning up the ant-hill with sword and lance. But when she appeared they all stopped short, and the noble youth stood shielding his dazzled eyes with his hand as he gazed upon the radiant figure in its shining draperies. Viorica’s golden hair fell in waves to her very feet, a delicate colour flooded her cheeks, and her eyes shone like stars. She dropped them, indeed, a moment before the young man’s glance; but soon she raised them again, and from her rosy mouth her voice came ringing forth—

“Who are ye that have laid such rude hands upon my kingdom?”

“Forgive, fairest lady!” cried the youth, “and as surely as I am a knight and a king’s son, I will henceforth be thy most zealous defender! How could I guess that a fairy—nay, a goddess—reigned over this kingdom?”

“I thank thee,” answered Viorica. “I need no other service save that of my faithful subjects; and all I ask is, that no foot of mortal man shall intrude upon my kingdom.”

With these words she disappeared as though the mountain had swallowed her up, and those outside could not see how hosts of ants were kissing her feet and escorting her back in triumph to her chamber, where she took up her work once more as calmly as though nothing had happened. And outside, there, before the mountain, the king’s son stood as though in a dream, and for hours could not be prevailed upon to remount his horse. He still kept hoping that the beautiful Queen would appear again—even though it were with angry word and glance, he would at least see her once more! But he only saw ants and yet more ants, in an endless stream, busying themselves with all diligence in repairing the mischief that his youthful thoughtlessness had occasioned. He could have crushed them under foot in his anger and impatience, for they seemed not to understand, or perhaps not even to hear, his questions, and ran quite boldly in front of him, in their new-found sense of security. At last he dejectedly mounted his steed, and so, plotting and planning how he might win the loveliest maid his eyes had ever beheld, he rode on through the forest till nightfall, to the great discontent of his followers, who consigned both ant-hill and maiden to the devil, as they thought of the supper-table and the bumpers of wine that had long been awaiting them.

Viorica had gone to rest later than any of her subjects. It was her wont to visit the nurseries herself, to see to the infants and feel if their little beds were soft enough; so she glided about, lifting one flower-curtain after another, with a fire-fly clinging to her finger-tips, and looked tenderly after the little brood. Now she went back into her room, and dismissed all the fire-flies, who had been lighting her about her work for many hours. She only kept one little glow-worm beside her while she undressed. She was used to fall at once into the deepest and quietest sleep, but to-night she tossed restlessly to and fro, twisting her hair about her fingers, sitting up and then lying down again, and all the time feeling so hot—oh, so hot! Never before had she been sensible of a lack of air in her kingdom, but now she would gladly have hurried forth, only that she feared to be heard and to corrupt others by her bad example. Had she not already, though under much pressure from the others, been obliged to pass many a harsh sentence, to banish some ants from her jurisdiction, because they had indulged in forbidden wanderings—nay, even to condemn some to capital punishment, and, with a bleeding heart, to see them ruthlessly stung to death?

The next morning she was up earlier than any of the rest, and gave them a surprise by showing them one of the galleries that she had built up all alone.

Doubtless she herself did not know that whilst doing so she had cast several glances towards the forest, and had even stood listening for a few moments.

She was scarcely back in her chamber again before some of the ants hurried to her in terror, crying, “The bad man who came yesterday has returned, and is riding round our hill!”

“Let him be,” replied Viorica, the Queen, quite calmly; “he will do us no more harm.” But the heart of Viorica, the lovely maiden, beat so fast that she could scarce draw breath.

A wondrous unrest had come over her; she roamed about far more than was her wont; she was always thinking that the baby-ants were not enough in the sunshine, and carrying them out herself, only to bring them in again as quickly; and she often gave contradictory orders. The ants could not tell what had befallen her, and took twice the pains to do all their tasks quickly and well. They surprised her with a splendid new vaulted hall, too; but she gazed at it with an abstracted air and praised it but scantily. The sound of horses’ hoofs was now constantly heard, both late and early, round about the mountain; but for many days Viorica never showed herself. A desperate yearning for the companionship of human beings, which she had never yet felt, now seized upon her. She thought of her native village, of the Hora, of her little house, of her mother, and of her mother’s grave, which she had never again visited.

After a few days she announced to her subjects that she thought of making a pilgrimage to her mother’s grave, and at this the ants inquired, in alarm, whether she were no longer happy with them, since she had begun to think of her home again.

“Nay,” replied Viorica, “I would go for a few hours only, and be back among you before nightfall.”

She refused all escort, but one or two of the ants followed her, unobserved, afar off. Everything looked greatly changed to her, and she thought she must have been away a long time. She began to reckon how long it could have taken the ants to build the great mountain wherein they dwelt, and said to herself that it must have been years. Her mother’s grave was no longer to be found, the spot was so overgrown with grass and weeds, and Viorica wandered about the churchyard weeping, since here too she was nought but a stranger. Evening drew on, and still Viorica was seeking for the grave she could not find. Then close beside her she heard the voice of the King’s son. She would have fled, but he held her fast and spoke to her of his mighty love, with such gentle and moving words that she stood still with bowed head, listening to him. It was so sweet to hear a human voice once more, and to hear it speak of love and friendship. Not until the night had grown quite dark did she remember that she was no forlorn orphan, but a Queen forgetful of her duties, and that the ants had forbidden her to hold any further converse with mankind. Then she broke away and fled in haste from the King’s son; but he pursued her, with caressing words, to the very foot of her mountain. Here she prayed and implored him to leave her, but he would only consent upon her promising to meet him again the following evening.

She glided noiselessly in, feeling her way along the galleries, and looking fearfully behind her, for she fancied she heard the sound of hurriedly tripping feet and whispering voices all around. No doubt it was but the anxious beating of her heart, for as soon as she stood still all was silence. At last she reached her chamber and sank in exhaustion upon her couch, but no soothing sleep fell on her eyelids. She felt that she had broken her promise; and who would now hold her in respect, since her word was no longer sacred? She tossed uneasily to and fro; her pride revolted against any secrecy, and yet she knew the ants only too well—their implacable hate, their cruel punishments. Many times she raised herself on her elbow to listen, and always she seemed to hear the hurried tripping of thousands of little feet, as though the whole mountain were alive.

When she felt that morning drew near, she lifted one of the rose-leaf curtains to hurry out into the open. But what was her amazement when she found the doorway completely stopped up with pine-needles! She tried another, then a third, until she had been the round of them all. In vain—they were all filled in to the very roof. Then she called aloud, and lo! the ants appeared in hosts, creeping in through countless tiny, invisible openings.

“I must go forth into the air,” said Viorica in commanding tones.

“Nay,” replied the ants, “we cannot let thee forth, or we shall lose thee.”

“Do ye then obey me no more?”

“Yea, in all things, save this one. Crush us under foot in punishment if thou wilt; we are ready to die for the good of our community, and to save the honour of our Queen.”

Viorica bowed her head, and tears gushed from her eyes. She implored the ants to give her back her freedom, but the stern little creatures held their peace, and all at once she found herself alone in those dark halls.

Oh, how Viorica wept and wailed and tore her beautiful hair! Then she began to try and dig an opening with her tender fingers, but all she scooped out was filled in again as quickly, so that she was fain at last to throw herself upon the ground in despair. The ants brought her the sweetest flowers, and nectar and dewdrops to quench her thirst, but all her prayers for freedom remained unanswered.

In the fear that her wailing might be heard without, the ants built their hill higher and higher, till it was as high as the peak VÎrful cu Dor, and they called their mountain Furnica, or “the ant.” The King’s son has long since left off riding round about the mountain, but in the silence of the night one can still hear the sound of Viorica’s weeping.

[Pg 68]
[Pg 69]