‘Whoever you are,’ he called out angrily, ‘show yourself! Come here!’
‘Come here!’ answered Echo, taking her chance, and summoning all her courage, she stepped out into the open and ran up to him, her eyes soft with adoration.
Narcissus stepped back.
‘What’s this? Who are you?’ he said.
‘Who are you?’ repeated Echo, letting her voice linger on the final word.
She stepped near to him, but dazzled by his beauty did not notice the cold disdain in his eyes.
‘Stop! Don’t touch me!’ cried Narcissus.
‘Touch me!’ laughed Echo, delighted that at last the words she was forced to say reflected her true feelings, and she tried to throw her arms round his neck.
Narcissus pushed her roughly aside. He had never known love, and he had none to give.
‘What are you doing?’ he shouted angrily. ‘How dare you think that I could love you?’
‘I could love you,’ faltered Echo, her eyes filling with tears.
‘Go away. Leave me alone,’ Narcissus said, and he turned on his heel and walked away.
‘Away! Alone!’ murmured Echo.
Her face burned with shame and she slipped back into the shadow of the trees. Rejected, her heart shrinking with misery, she fled from the forest, and wandering aimlessly, took refuge in the cold, distant mountains. There she starved herself, refusing to eat, and at last she pined away, until all that remained of her was her voice.
Down in the forest, the spirits of the woods and the water were angry with the cold-hearted Narcissus. They held up their hands to heaven and called out, ‘Gods, punish Narcissus! Let him love, but never be loved in return.’
Nemesis, the god of vengeance, heard their prayers. He began to watch Narcissus, waiting for the chance to punish him.
One day, hot and tired after a weary hunt, Narcissus stumbled into a forest clearing, where reeds and lush marsh flowers grew up around the rim of a woodland pool. He knelt beside the water and lowered his head, ready to drink. But then, shimmering beneath him, the image of a face seemed to rise up through the water and gaze at him.
The face was framed with black curls that fell across a pale forehead. A pair of eyes, dark in their sockets and full of wonder, looked into his. Beneath the nose, straight and perfectly formed, the red lips were parted in surprise.
Enchanted, Narcissus stared. The creature in the water was the loveliest thing he had ever seen, and his heart was filled with the first passionate love he had ever known.
Trembling, he put out his hand, longing to touch and stroke the creature’s soft cheek. But as soon as his hand touched the water, the lovely face disappeared, fractured by a thousand ripples.
Afraid he had been too hasty, Narcissus shrank back, then slowly, his heart beating fast, he leaned forward again.
The face had returned. Almost faint with relief, Narcissus cried out with joy. The lips below him parted soundlessly, as if the image was answering his delight.
‘Who are you?’ whispered Narcissus. ‘A nymph?’
The mouth beneath him moved, silently giving back the question.
‘I love you! Oh, I love you!’ cried Narcissus.
Slowly, carefully, he lowered his face to the water. The image rose to meet him. The eyes gazed worshipfully into his. The mouth was pursed to kiss.
Narcissus shut his eyes, and his head was spinning as he bent lower still, longing to feel the soft lips on his own.
Instead of warm flesh he touched cold water.
His eyes flew open. The face had splintered again into jagged shards of light. He could see nothing but a writhing nose, shaking shadows where the eyes should be, and a broken mouth that twisted and disappeared, then formed itself again and gaped in horror that echoed his own.
Filled with despair, Narcissus lay down on the bank again and wept.
It was evening now, and a little breeze ruffled the water. Leaves blew down on to its surface, and fish leaped up from the depths to snatch at the gnats that hovered over the shimmering pool. Narcissus gazed and gazed, but the creature he loved had gone.
‘I’ll stay here,’ Narcissus whispered to the pool. ‘I’ll wait and watch till you return, and then I’ll love you forever.’
He slept when darkness fell. In the morning, the breeze had dropped and an early mist covered the water. Anxiously, Narcissus waited, and as it cleared the face appeared to him again.
Narcissus greeted it rapturously and pleaded with his loved one to step out of the water and embrace him, but the cold image only moved silently in reply.
In desperation, Narcissus called out, ‘I know you love me as much as I love you. You stretch out your arms and raise your lips to kiss me whenever I lower mine. You laugh when I laugh, and your sighs are the same as mine. Only a little stretch of water keeps us apart, but it could be the widest ocean or the deepest river because however much I try I can never cross it.’
His tears fell then and disturbed the water, and his reflection shattered and disappeared.
‘Where are you going, my love? Come back! Don’t leave me!’ he called out in despair.
A kind of madness had seized Narcissus. Unable to tear himself away from the pool, he no longer ate or drank, and he began to waste away, worn out by love. His dark curls hung limply round his face. His cheeks grew pale and thin. His arms could no longer lift the nets which he had once hurled so skilfully to trap the running deer. His legs had no strength now to support him.
He could only lie and gaze at himself, and he became weaker and weaker, day by day.
Echo heard his despairing cries, and her soft voice repeated them, sending them sadly through the forest clearing, her distress matching his own.
At last, exchanging one final long look with his own reflection, Narcissus murmured, ‘My only love, goodbye!’ And he closed his eyes and died.
‘Goodbye!’ Echo whispered, and the surface of the pool shivered as the sound of her voice rippled over it.
On the heights of Mount Olympus, the gods grieved for the handsome boy who now lay dead by the pool. They changed him into a flower. And if you, who are reading this story, should roam through the woods in the springtime, and if you should come to a pool in a clearing between the trees, you will find narcissus flowers growing at the water’s edge, their white petals perfectly reflected in the cold clear water.
And if you should then climb up to the wild high places, or down to the sea where the cliffs rear up from the shore, or into the caves that tunnel the hills, and if you should call out, raising your own voice, ‘Hello! Are you there?’ Echo will hear you. Echo will answer, repeating the words, ‘You there!’
You will call out again, and she will answer again, and again, her restless soul calling out to you, on and on to the end of time.
Gaye Hiçyilmaz THE MIRRORED GARDEN
I first saw the mirrored garden on my way back from the beach. I hadn’t even wanted to go to the seaside last year, and I’d told them so, but they hadn’t taken any notice of that.
‘Rubbish,’