He heard the barking of the dogs at the evening hour, among the oaks, and the faint, almost imperceptible clanking of the herd’s cow bells as the cows returned to the stockade. As he was a hard working man, night often fell while he was beyond the two hills which bordered his property. Higher and higher still he climbed- sure of step- under the ever-changing sky, paths and footpaths to the outskirts of the dark and shadowy Valley of Santa Fe.

One day he was taking one of his evening strolls when he arrived right at the very banks of the Black Pool, there where the waters run unfathomably deep. It was midnight and the full moon shone clear and bright. The pool was still and lifeless. Not a breath of air passed through the branches of the willows. Not an animal stirred. No other light shone except the splendour of the moon which filled the sky. There was something strange and heavy in the air, and with aching legs the master of Can Prat sat himself down next to the water on a sloping rock. Then, half submerged in the waters of the pool, an image, at first a blur and then in clear view, the marvellous figure of a naked woman appeared, slowly and absent-mindedly combing her blond hair, blond like gold, with a brilliant comb The master of Can Prat had never seen such perfection as hers, nor were there words to explain it. No man could have resisted such awesome beauty.

The woman languidly passed the comb through her hair with her arms held high, while she softly sang some strange melody. Her eyes were green, tender and soft but distant, far away as if they still saw, in the lost lines of the dark wood, a land of sure and perfect forms.
Suddenly the woman looked at him, from head to toe, and at that moment he understood that he loved her as he had never loved any one else, and that his destiny was inevitably linked to hers. And it was desire and it was contemplation, will pride and audacity he felt as he admired that adorable face and that provocative body.

The master of Can Prat asked what her name was, but the woman, without quitting her gaze did not answer. And as the story goes, the master asked her questions for a long time while she just watched him with her young, emerald eyes without saying a word, but finally there came the moment when timidly and calmly she explained that she was a water maiden and not a mortal, but neither was she immortal and she obeyed a law and customs different from those of men; that her embrace in that deep and dangerous place had the power in the night of the full moon to drown the men who desired her. The story also tells us that the voice of the woman vibrated like the sound of a bell at sea, and that her accent made him think of another world, perhaps that which some have known in a simpler and happier existence.

It was love in vain on that special night. The man, prisoner of the place and the time asked the nymph insistently if she would accept to be his wife, and he offered to share with her, his house, his land and the wealth that he owned in the county as a sign of his love for her. She however was afraid to leave the dark protection of the place where she had grown up, and immerse herself in a new life of which she knew nothing at all. She had heard that men were inconstant, unbalanced and rude, and incredibly covetous.

However, the water maiden felt tired of the cold certitude of her environment, and she realised that she liked the strong man before her, and so she agreed to marry him on the condition that he swore, then and there to never, ever, under any circumstances, for whatever reason, to remind her either in public or in private of her river origins, nor was he to taunt her with words or expressions about this.
And so it came to pass- as they say- that the water maiden became the wife and mistress of Can Prat, the legitimate loving wife, the wise counsellor, and generous and respected owner, together with her husband of much wealth. What’s more, the power of the family increased to the point that the name of Prat de Gualba was highly considered in the palace of the Count of Barcelona himself and even beyond the Mediterranean, in all the lands, islands and counties of Catalonia. People also say that the couple had two children, a son and a daughter who looked a lot like their mother, and who grew strong and tall among all that wealth. The years went by, after the heat and the harvest came red autumn, later the whistling winter, and happy smoke came from the chimney of Can Prat at all hours. The spring came like a surprise with the flight of the daisies and man and wife, hand in hand watched the torrents of water which meandered down the mountain.

But at the Black Rock at the side of the plain a mean god made his home. He spied maliciously at critical moments: an evil spirit of the place without name and unseen, the author of mischief and bad luck of all kinds and the body of the devils that boiled in the sinister waters. He was the creator, who knows of the terrible fate which was about to occur and this is certain and nothing strange, and in one way or another part of the story which I will now explain:

So we have before us the terrible day when the master of Can Prat and his wife were looking over a fine piece of land which they needed to prepare, they began to argue over which would be the right crop to plant. The master thought that it would be a good idea to plant a wheat field to make fine bread, and highly valued on the market. The wife on the other hand argued against this, and said that the land was not at all suitable, and in her opinion, corn with its full cobs would be more appropriate. The arguments and opinions of first one and then the other rose in tone until the point at which the husband, as angry as could be, and forgetting his vow which he had made years before, reproached his wife with loud cries which echoed through the mountains and hill he accused her that little could she know of sowing or of planting because she was nothing more than a poor woman born and dragged by the master himself from the waters of the river. He realised what he had said and regretted it; but who can take back a word misplaced? The deed was done. The infallible misfortune and the charm were lost.

The water maiden, on hearing the forbidden words, fled to the depths of the Black Pool, and the master of Can Prat could not stop her. She ran and ran as if carried away by an evil wind until she disappeared. Fallen and weak he returned home, while from La Coma de Morou until the hill of En Berenguer Mort, the sky filled with furious clouds.

It is said that the master of Can Prat never saw his wife again; and he was strong and brave and went to the pool during the day and shouted to her; cursed or made promises to the gods who watched over that place without result; came and went frenetically from his house to the pool, up and down the path, crying like a child, hoping to discover her when she was unawares. He passed hours and hours at a western window of his home gazing at the place from where she had fled and at night, at full moon. How he wanted to leave the house to go and find her at the riverbanks of the turbulent pool, but each time he tried, he fell asleep like a dead man on the bench in front of the fire and slept soundly until the dawn.

It is also said that, when the master, invaded by this weakness, did not notice, his wife entered the house cautiously and went to her children’s bedroom, where she kissed them sweetly and caressed them. She would stay there a while, standing attentive singing her song, and before leaving she would cry shining tears on the large chestnut table of the dining room, tears which, the next day were transformed into strange pearls of great value which the master of Can Prat took, amazed, without knowing from where they came. This was how, despite the tragedy, the prosperity of the house grew and grew for many years.

Extract from the book: "Legends of the Montseny" Martí Boada
Source: Water maiden Xavier Renau Pub. Editorial Altafulla, 1986

The spring of Les Nàiades