Going up the Prahova valley one cannot see “Cetatea Babei,” the Witch’s Castle, because it is hidden by the Bucegi Mountain. It is a jagged peak, and looks as though it were covered with ruins. A field of eternal snow lies between it and the Jipi. In far-off times, when wolves guarded the flocks, and eagles and doves made their nests together, a proud castle stood there, and within the castle busy doings went on. From morning till night it rang with pattering, clanging, bustling sounds, and hundreds of hasty footsteps scurried to and fro therein. But at night-time a light shone forth from the tower, and the humming of a mighty wheel was heard, and above the hum of the wheel a wondrous, soft song seemed to hover, keeping time with it. Then people would glance fearfully up toward the castle and whisper: “She is spinning again!” And she who sat spinning there was the mistress of the castle, a very evil witch, to whom the mountain-dwarfs brought all the gold that they found in the depths of the earth, that she might spin threads of gold for all the brides to wear upon their heads on their wedding-day.[6] The gold was unloaded in heaps in her castle, and she weighed it and chose it out—and woe to the dwarf who did not bring the required weight; he was thrust between the stem and bark of a huge tree, and squeezed until he gave up the very uttermost grain of gold; or he would be caught by the beard only in the tree, and there he might struggle and writhe as he pleased, and cry for mercy—the old witch turned a deaf ear to it all. The name of Baba Coaja (“Mother Bark”) had been given her, perhaps because of this cruel custom of hers, perhaps because she was as hard as a stale crust of bread, and as wrinkled as the stem of an old oak. She alone understood the spinning of the golden threads, and she went on preparing them for hundreds of years in advance.

Baba Coaja had a wondrously beautiful daughter, named Alba (“The White One”), for she was as white as the snow that covered the mountain-tops. Her skin was like velvet, and like velvet, too, were her brown eyes, and her hair was like the gold-threads that her mother spun.

She was always kept shut up, for Baba Coaja had plenty of work for her to do; and, besides, no one was to be allowed to see her, still less to woo her. She had to wind all the golden thread on reels, and store it up in underground cellars, ready for all those hundreds and hundreds of years to come. This work was very burdensome to the sweet maiden, because her mother would sing and mutter all sorts of evil spells and sayings as she spun, so that a portion of sorrow and heartache was already prepared for each bride, so soon as the golden threads should have rested upon her head; and Alba thought sadly of all the trouble that was being thus determined beforehand. Indeed, she once sat down herself to the great wheel, while her mother was away, and spun a length of thread into which she worked nothing but good wishes. But when Baba Coaja came home she was very wroth, and beat her daughter unmercifully, saying, as she threw the thread upon a heap with the rest: “Thou shalt never wed until thou canst tell thine own spinning apart again!”

In her heart the old witch was glad to have a pretext for keeping her daughter to herself, for it had been prophesied that Alba would be very unhappy, and would die young. The only being that she loved in the world was her beautiful child, yet, however much trouble she took to please her with fine clothes and all sorts of pretty trifles, she could not bring a shade of colour to her cheek or a smile to her eyes, for the only thing the maiden yearned after was freedom, and that was never hers. How she longed to go wandering for once beneath the trees that clothed the foot of the mountain whereon she dwelt. Up there nothing grew, save a little short grass; and the winter lasted far longer than the summer. When the wind howled round the castle, raging as though he would tear it to pieces, then her heart would grow heavy indeed; she would sit for hours before the hearth, staring into the fire, watching the sparks fly, and thinking of nothing at all. Or again, she would listen to her mother’s uncanny singing, while the humming of the wheel and the howling of the storm mingled in one dreary accompaniment. And then she would wonder why she spun so much sorrow for the brides into the gold-threads—why men were not suffered to be happy and gay, out there in the beautiful sunshine, for that always looked bright and merry. But she could never make out the reason why, and would fall asleep at last from sheer thinking. The great reels of gold in the cellars all had one and the same face, yet she would play with them, and pretend they were people, and make up their histories, and try and fancy what would befall the brides that were to wear those golden threads; but as she knew nothing of the world, all her stories were very unlikely ones.

“Mother,” she asked one day, resting her chin upon her hand, “are the people in the world just as we are, thou and I—or have they other forms, and other thoughts?”

“What are the people in the world to thee? They are all very bad, and would only do thee harm if they got hold of thee.”

“But a while ago a beautiful creature came up our mountain, and there sat one upon him, one who was fairer far to see than any of the little dwarfs; he had black locks, and no beard, and a purple mantle. Was not that a man?”

The old witch was terror-stricken at this speech, and answered: “If he does but ride up here again, I will break his neck for him, and those in the valley shall never see him again!”

“Oh, mother! do not thus—he was so fair!”

“If thou dost think but once again of him, I tell thee I will lock thee in the cellar, and make thee weigh gold out night and day. As it is, thou art grown so idle in these latter times, and dost nought but sit there and ask useless questions! Hast thou not all thy heart can desire?”

“Nay, mother; I too would fain have a beautiful creature, such as yonder man had, and sit upon it. Up here there are but sheep, and one cannot sit upon them.”

“Now thou wouldst have a horse indeed, wouldst thou, foolish child! Dost not see that it were dangerous to life to ride here? The grass is slippery and the abyss deep. One false step, and thou wert lying shattered to pieces down below.”

Alba thought over this for a long while, and wondered why it was dangerous for horses to go where sheep could tread in safety; but to this question also she got no reply, for she did not dare to ask it. Only, the dwarfs appeared much uglier to her than before, and the gold became so distasteful to her that she could not bear to look at it. She constantly thought of the beautiful horse, and of the youth who was to have his neck broken if he showed himself there again. Why did her mother want to break his neck? This time, too, she found no answer, however much she puzzled over the matter.

Some time after, the handsome youth rode up to the mountain again; he was tormented by curiosity to discover who lived in that mighty castle, whose walls were hewn out of the living rock. He was a king’s son, and his name was Porfirie. He was not used to being unable to do things, and any obstacle was welcome to his impetuous nature. When they spoke to him of marriage, he was wont to reply that he should win his bride from the clutches of a dragon, or pluck her down from a cliff, but never have her tamely wooed for him by a deputy, and end up with a commonplace wedding!

Just at that moment Alba was busy bedecking herself, by way of passing the time, after having worked at reeling off gold all the morning. She had bathed her hands and face, and combed her long hair with her ivory comb, and about her brow she had bound a double row of pearls, in which she had fastened an alpine rose sideways. Her robe was white, with a golden girdle, and over it flowed a green velvet mantle, held on either shoulder with chains of pearls. Around her snow-white throat she laid a string of emeralds, as large as pigeons’ eggs, a present from the mountain-dwarfs; and then she looked at herself in the glass, in which, however, she could not see how her golden hair gleamed upon the green velvet mantle. Indeed, she could not have seen aright at all, or the glass was bad, for now she smote her face, crying: “How ugly I am!—oh, how ugly! That is why my mother hides me from all men, and gives me fine dresses, and jewels like a queen’s—that it may be forgotten how ugly I am!”

Just then the sound of horses’ hoofs echoed among the rocks, and with horror-stricken gaze she beheld the handsome stranger, who was to lose his life if he appeared again before the castle. He must be warned at any cost. She sprang like a wild goat down the mountain-side, with fluttering mantle and waving hair, in which the sunbeams seemed to catch as she went. The young King saw her speeding towards him over the rocks, her feet scarcely seeming to touch the stones upon the way, and reined in his horse in wonder-struck admiration. He asked himself what princess, or mountain-fairy, this might be, flying down to him thus. And now she waved both her arms, crying breathlessly: “Back, back! Do not come up hither—it were thy death!”

“And though it should be my death,” he exclaimed, “I would die gladly, seeing I have beheld the fairest maid that ever trod this earth!”

Alba stood still before him, a faint blush overspread her cheeks, and looking at him with wide-open eyes, she said: “Am I fair?”

“Yea, verily, wondrous fair! So bewitching art thou, with thy golden hair and thy golden eyes, that I love thee from this hour!”

“And I love thee, too,” replied the guileless maiden, unaware of the fact that it is not customary among men to say what one thinks. “But do not say my hair is golden, for gold is so ugly!”

“Ugly!” The King’s son laughed. “I have never heard that of it before. Hast thou, then, seen so much gold that it has grown to seem ugly to thee?”

“Ah, yes! I see nought save gold—instead of green trees, gold—instead of flowers, gold—instead of men, gold—heaps of it, like that.” And she spread out her arms and turned herself about. “Oh, how much rather would I sit upon yon beautiful creature! I have never seen a horse before—may I touch it?”

“Yes, indeed, and stroke it too, and climb up beside me. Thou shalt ride as long as thou hast a mind to.”

Then he bade her rest her foot on his and give him both her hands, and so he drew her up before him on the saddle, clasped his arm about her, and gave his horse the spur. He fancied she would be frightened, but no such thought occurred to the gentle, innocent creature, for she knew nought of danger. As soon as the ground was soft beneath them he loosened the reins, and away they sped, through the woodland shade, and over the flowery meadows.

Alba shouted and clapped her hands for glee, crying: “Faster, faster yet!” So they drew near to the city, through which they had to ride before reaching the hill upon which the royal castle stood. Then suddenly fear came upon the maiden.

“Are all these human beings?” she asked, as they rode at a foot’s-pace through the streets. “And does not the wind blow down these tiny houses?”

“Nay,” laughed Porfirie. “The wind does not blow here as hard as it does up yonder.”

“See, my people,” he cried to the folk as he passed, “here I bring you your Queen. She is a fairy-blossom, and I plucked her from yonder cliff!”

“But I am no Queen,” said Alba in affright.

“I am a King, and since thou art to be my wife, thou wilt become Queen also.”

“Thy wife? But I was to have no husband, my mother said.”

“She only said that because she knew that none was to have thee, save I alone.”

“Art thou not at all bad, then?”

“No, I am not bad.”

“Then art thou not a human being?”

“Nay, but I am.”

“Yet my mother said that all human creatures were bad, and that I must have nought to do with them.”

“Who is thy mother, then?”

“That I do not know. She spins gold.”

“Spins gold? And for what?”

“For bridal veils—but I will have no gold at my wedding!” added Alba hastily, and she clutched at her head as though she would defend it from that dangerous contact.

“But thou canst not do otherwise,” said Porfirie, “or every one would wonder. Here we are at my home; we are even now riding into the courtyard, and thou must speak pleasantly to my mother.”

“Is she old and ugly?”

“Nay, she is fair and proud.”

“What does ‘proud’ mean?” asked Alba.

Porfirie looked into her eyes—they were as clear and unsullied as the sun itself. He pressed the maiden to his heart; then throwing the reins to the attendants who came forward, he sprang from his horse, lifted Alba gently to the ground, and offered his hand to lead her up the broad stone steps.

They entered a lofty hall, and there sat a tall, noble lady, surrounded by many maidens, and she was spinning beautiful gold-coloured silk. All rose from their work, and gazed in delighted amaze on the beautiful pair standing beneath the portal, that was just then flooded by the glory of the setting sun.

“Here, mother,” cried Porfirie, “is thy dear daughter, my sweet bride, whom I found up yonder, quite near the sky; and I am not yet sure whether she be not indeed one of the heavenly inhabitants, that will presently spread wings and flee away from us!”

“Oh, thou beauteous lady!” cried Alba, and fell at the feet of the Queen, who raised her up and kissed her with great kindness.

“And thou art spinning too,” she went on, “only far, far more beautifully than my mother; for what thou dost spin is as soft and fine as snowflakes, or the petals of flowers.”

“What does thy mother spin, then?”

“Oh, always that hard, ugly gold!”

“Gold!” echoed the bystanders; and many laughed, and did not believe the maiden’s words.

“Canst thou, too, spin gold?”

“I can, but I may not.”

“Why not?”

She was opening her lips to tell what her mother did over her spinning, but all at once she felt strangely ill at ease, and realised how angrily every one would look at her if the maidens knew that all kinds of sorrow was spun for them into their bridal veils. And here they were all looking so happy and so kind, these bad people, against whom her mother had warned her! They seemed far better, indeed, than that mother herself, of whom the mountain-dwarfs were always so horribly afraid.

She was relieved of her perplexity by hearing one of the maidens whisper: “Her dress is velvet—real white velvet!”

“And the jewels—from whom did she get her jewels?” said another, rather louder.

“From my friends,” answered Alba. “Would you like them? I have many more such playthings at home.” And taking the emeralds from her neck, she gave each of the girls one.

She would have done the same with her strings of pearls, had not the Queen prevented her.

“Are thy friends so rich, then?” inquired the latter.

“I do not know. What is ‘rich’? They bring it all up out of the earth in sacks; and when they do not bring enough, they are punished.”

Then the Queen’s face darkened; she drew her son aside and said: “This maiden is none other than the daughter of the abominable witch, Baba Coaja. Take her back as quickly as possible to the spot where thou didst find her. She will only bring trouble upon our house.”

“Ask anything of me but that, mother,” replied the young King, turning pale. “I love this sweet and innocent maid with my every thought, with my every breath, with all the blood in my veins, and though she were Baba Coaja her very self, I could not give her up!”

The Queen sighed. But she gave orders that an apartment should be made ready next to her own for the maiden; and the wedding was fixed for the following day.

The Queen desired to adorn her new daughter for it with her own hands, but she had a bitter struggle with her, because the maiden would on no account suffer any gold-threads to be laid upon her head. She fled from one end of the castle to the other like a hunted doe, she cast herself upon the ground, and hid beneath the coverings of the divans; she begged and prayed with streaming eyes that she might be spared. “Let the Queen put some of the beautiful silken threads of her own spinning upon her hair, only not the horrible gold!”

But as she knelt wailing and praying before her, the Queen gave a sign, and two of the attendant maidens bound her hands, while a third fastened on the golden veil. They all expected to see an outbreak of rage and despair; but Alba grew quite quiet. As pale as death, she bowed her head beneath its burden. “Thou art harder than my mother,” she said, “for she would not give me a husband, lest I should be unhappy, but thou dost thyself call down sorrow upon me!”

No one understood these words. Alba could not be prevailed upon to explain them, whereby the general mistrust of her was yet further increased. She looked so sad that the people no longer even recognised in her the beaming maiden of yesterday; and all her young husband’s words of love could not chase the clouds from her brow.

At court there was presently no talk of anything but the countless treasures of the young Queen, and many people urged the King to go up the mountain and examine them for himself. He cared nothing for the treasures; he only thought of how he could bring back the smile to his young wife’s face, and fancied that perhaps, if he fetched her the ornaments she was fond of, she would grow merry again. For she smiled pityingly at the little stones other people called jewels, and could not at all understand that such trifles should be costly. But as soon as she learnt that Porfirie intended to ride up to her castle again, she was terror-stricken, and implored and conjured him not to do so. “It will surely be thy death,” said she.

He, however, would not be convinced, and the more she depicted the dangers that awaited him there, the more did these very dangers attract him; so that one morning he set off secretly, while she still lay in a deep slumber.

With only a few followers, he dashed up towards Baba Coaja’s castle. But she spied his coming from afar, and cried out to him as he drew nearer: “A curse upon thee—thou who didst ravish my child, only to bring her to sorrow! See here, then—satisfy the greed that has driven thee back hither, miserable wretch! I never desired to have aught to do with thee—why didst thou seek me out?”

With these words she began to scatter down jewels in endless quantities upon the horsemen; but as they fell, the precious stones were changed into ice and snow, and whirled through the air in such clouds that the unhappy men were unable to shield themselves, and were, moreover, so dazzled that they could no longer see their way. The greater number of them fell over the precipices; but the young King, who, thirsting for vengeance, tried to reach the castle that he might strangle the terrible witch, was so completely caught in the avalanche that ere a moment was past he could no longer move a limb, and before he had time to utter a word he was buried deep beneath the snow.

As he disappeared, Baba Coaja said, with a malicious laugh: “Now she will come, to him, not to me—yet it will be to me, not to him, that she comes. I shall have my child again, for she may not remain in the wicked world, and among men, whom I hate.”

And indeed it was not long before Alba, weary with her long journey afoot, her white velvet dress dusty and travel-stained, came hastening up the mountain.

“Where, where is he?” she asked, with blanched lips.

“So!” said the old witch, “thou hast run away from me with a strange man, and now comest back, and dost not ask after me, but after him? He is not here.”

“Yes, yes, he is! I traced him, up to the edge of yonder snow!”

[Pg 118]
[Pg 119]

With these words she began to scatter down jewels in endless quantities upon the horsemen.