ran riotous, Lake Ilmen waxed boisterous, a
tempest arose, and the raging waters swept away the mill.[274]

In old times sacrifices were regularly paid to lakes and streams in
Russia, just as they were in Germany[275] and in other lands. And even
at the present day the common people are in the habit of expressing,
by some kind of offering, their thanks to a river on which they have
made a prosperous voyage. It is said that Stenka Razin, the insurgent
chief of the Don Cossacks in the seventeenth century, once offered a
human sacrifice to the Volga. Among his captives was a Persian
princess, to whom he was warmly attached. But one day "when he was
fevered with wine, as he sat at the ship's side and musingly regarded
the waves, he said: 'Oh, Mother Volga, thou great river! much hast
thou given me of gold and of silver, and of all good things; thou hast
nursed me, and nourished me, and covered me with glory and honor. But
I have in no way shown thee my gratitude. Here is somewhat for thee;
take it!' And with these words he caught up the princess and flung her
into the water."[276]

Just as rivers might be conciliated by honor and sacrifice, so they
could be irritated by disrespect. One of the old songs tells how a
youth comes riding to the Smorodina, and beseeches that stream to show
him a ford. His prayer is granted, and he crosses to the other side.
Then he takes to boasting, and says, "People talk about the Smorodina,
saying that no one can cross it whether on foot or on horseback--but
it is no better than a pool of rain-water!" But when the time comes
for him to cross back again, the river takes its revenge, and drowns
him in its depths, saying the while: "It is not I, but thy own
boasting that drowns thee."

From these vocal rivers we will now turn to that elementary force by
which in winter they are often rendered mute. In the story which is
now about to be quoted will be found a striking personification of
Frost. As a general rule, Winter plays by no means so important a part
as might have been expected in Northern tales. As in other European
countries, so in Russia, the romantic stories of the people are full
of pictures bathed in warm sunlight, but they do not often represent
the aspect of the land when the sky is grey, and the earth is a sheet
of white, and outdoor life is sombre and still. Here and there, it is
true, glimpses of snowy landscapes are offered by the skazkas. But it
is seldom that a wintry effec