Roumanian stories

THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SAN DI£GO

LA JOUA, CALIFORNIA

fC

ROUMANIAN STORIES

ROUMANIAN STORIES
TRANSLATED FROM THE
ORIGINAL ROUMANIAN

BY LUCY BYNG a a a

LONDON JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY. MCMXXI

WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES, ENGLAND.

TO

ROUMANIA'S GRACIOUS QUEEN

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED WITH
PROFOUND ADMIRATION AND RESPECT

2078390

PREFACE

BY

H.M. THE OUEEN OF ROUMANIA

VERY little is known in England about
Roumanian literature, which although not
as rich as in many other countries, pre-
sents, nevertheless, features of real interest.

Like all people in touch with the East, even
the peasants have a strain of poetry in their speech,
their expression is picturesque and gentle, an almost
fatalistic note of sadness rings through all the songs
they sing.

Our poets have adapted themselves to this par-
ticular strain, and mostly it is the popular form
that has been developed by our literary men both
in prose and poetry.

Roumanian literature possesses eminent his-
torians and critics. I am not, in these few lines,
going to touch upon their activities ; but strangely
enough there are few writers of fiction amongst the
Roumanians — great novel writers do not exist.

The Roumanian, above all, excels as poet and as
a short-story writer. In this last art he is past-
master, and it is therefore a great pleasure to me to
encourage this book which Mrs. Schomberg Byng

Vlll

PREFACE

is sending out into the world at a moment when I
am so anxious that my country should be better
known and understood in England.

Each one of these short stories is a little work
of art, and deeply characteristic of Roumanian
popular life and thought ; therefore I have no
doubt that they will interest all those who care
about literature.

I feel personally indebted to Mrs. Schomberg
Byng to have thought of making this interesting
feature of Roumanian literature known to the
British public. I therefore, with all my heart, wish
this little volume Good Luck.

MARIE.

Jan., 1920.

PREFACE
BY PROFESSOR S. MEHEDINTZI

Of Bucharest University and
the Roumanian Academy

A regards poetry Roumanian literature had
reached the European level by the nineteenth
century. Eminescu may be placed by the
side of Leopardi. The drama and the novel are
still unrepresented by any works of the first rank ;
but the short story shows that Roumanian writing
is constantly on the upward grade.

The following stories have been selected from
many writers. The reader must judge each author
for himself. It is impossible to settle their respec-
tive merits ; that would presuppose an acquaintance
with the whole of Roumanian literature. We may,
however, be allowed to say a word or two about
each writer.

Negruzzi is to Roumanian very much what Sir
Walter Scott has been to English literature. After
the lapse of nigh a century the historical novel is
still identified with his name.

Creanga is a production exclusively Roumanian ;

x PREFACE BY PROF. S. MEHEDINTZI

a peasant who knew no foreign tongue, but whose
mind was steeped in the fairy tales, proverbs, and
wit of the people. He wrote with a humour and
an originality of imagery which make his work
almost impossible to translate into other languages.

Caragiale, our most noted dramatic author, is
the antithesis of Creanga ; a man of culture, literary
and artistic in the highest sense of the word. The
Easter Torch ranks him high among the great short-
story writers.

Popovici-Banatzeanu — dead very young — and
Bratescu-Voineshti are writers who more than any
others give us the atmosphere of the English novel
in which the ethical note predominates. Some of
their pages have the poignancy of Dickens.

The same discreet note is struck by Slavici,
born in Hungary, whose Popa Tanda is the personi-
fication of the Roumanian people subject for cen-
turies to the injustice of an alien race, and driven to
seek support in their own work only.

Delavrancea, a famous orator, is a romantic ;
while Sadoveanu, the most fertile prose writer
among the younger men, possesses as novelist and
story-teller a touch which makes him akin to
Turgenev and Sienkiewicz.

Beza stands by himself. From the mountains
of Macedonia he brings into the national literature

PREFACE BY PROF. S. MEHEDINTZI xi

the original note of the life of the shepherds in the
Balkans. Constantly upon the road, among moun-
tain tops and plains, always in fear of the foreigners
among whom they pass, their life manifests a great
spiritual concentration. Over Beza's work there
hover a mystery and a restraint which completely
fascinate the reader. Though young, he possesses
the qualities of the classical writers.

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE

I WISH to take this opportunity of thanking
M. Beza for his most valuable assistance.
Without his intimate knowledge of the two
languages and his kindly and expert criticism these
translations would never have seen the light.

Some well-known names, that of Diuliu Zamfi-
rescu for instance, are absent from my list of
authors ; lack of time and difficulty in obtaining
their works made their inclusion impossible.

LUCY BYNG.

CONTENTS

PAGE

THE FAIRY OF THE LAKE. M. Sadoveanu i

THE EASTER TORCH. /. L. Caragiale . . . .11
AT MANJOALA'S INN /. L. Caragia/e . • • 35

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU, 1564-1569. C. Negtvzzi . 51
ZIDRA. M. Beza ........ 85

GARDANA. M. Beza 93

THE DEAD POOL M. Beza .109

OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR. LCreanga . . . 115
COZMA RACOARE. M. Sadoveanu . . . . .141

THE WANDERERS M. Sadoveanu . . . . .157

THE FLEDGELING. /. Al. Bratescu-Voineshti . . .167
POPA TANDA. /. Slavici . . . . . .175

OUT IN THE WORLD, Ion Popovici-Banatzeanu . . 207
THE BIRD OF ILL OMEN. /. Al. Bratescu-Voinefhti . .261
IRINKL. B. Delavrancea 267

ROUMANIAN STORIES

ROUMANIAN STORIES

THE FAIRY OF THE LAKE

BY M. SADOVEANU

ONE evening old Costescu told us an adven-
ture of his youth.
The old mill of Zavu, he began,
stands to this day close to the Popricani lake. A
black building leaning towards the dark waters.
The six wheels are driven by great streams of water
which come rushing through the mill-race, and sur-
round the house, washing through the cracks.
Above the boiling foam which encircles it, the great
building shakes with the unceasing roar of the
water.

So it is to-day ; so it was at the period when I
used to roam about those parts — it is long, long,
since then.

I remember a night like a night in a fairy tale,
full of the silver light of the moon, a night when
only youth could see, when only youth could feel.

It was in July. I was descending the lake by

2 ROUMANIAN STORIES

myself with my gun over my shoulder. Flights of
duck passing above the forest of reeds lured me on.
I followed their rapid flight through the clear atmo-
sphere, the black specks became gradually smaller
until they were lost to sight in the rosy clouds of
the setting sun. I passed above the weir, where
the waterfall brawls, between the bushy willow-trees
which guard the narrow path, and approached the
mill. The green stream swept through the mill-
race, the foaming water boiled round the black
building, and in the yard, unyoked and ruminating,
the oxen slept beside the waggon.

The old man, the miller, the great-grandson of
Zavu, descended from the mill bridge with his pipe
in the corner of his mouth. In the deafening roar
of the water and the creaking of the wheels men
waited in silence amid the luminous spray that filled
the old building.

" Good health to you, my old friend Simione ! "

" Thank you, sir. How goes it with the land ?
Grinding good flour ? "

This was the old man's usual question : was the
country grinding good flour ?

" Good, my old friend Simione ! "

" Praise be to God ! " said the old fellow.
" But how are you, sir ? You never come to see
us. The duck give you no peace ! "

^ " No, they give me no peace. I mean to lie in
wait on the bank to-night. Perhaps luck will come
my way."

THE FAIRY OF THE LAKE 3

" Good ; may it be as you wish. See, Zamfira
will show you the way."

Just at that moment appeared the miller's niece.
She was a strange girl of sixteen years of age ; of
middle height and thin, but with well-developed
muscles : her cheeks were sunburnt, and she had two
grey eyes, eyes so restless and so strange, and of
such beauty and such brilliance as I have never seen
since. She had not regular features, but the grey
eyes beneath the heavy, arched brows gave her an
unusual and radiant beauty.

At the old man's words she stopped suddenly,
and said quickly with twinkling eyes :

" I don't want to show him the way ! "

" Why not ? " I asked with surprise, while the
old man smiled.

" Because I don't want to ! " said Zamfira,
looking at me askance.

" Very well," said the old man quietly, " don't
take him ! "

The girl looked at me searchingly, through half-
closed eyelids, and then cried sharply :

« I'll take him, after all ! "

Old Simione began to laugh softly, turned
round, and pursued his way to the mill bridge, but
Zamfira remained in front of me, erect, her hands
by her sides. Her head was bent down, but the
grey eyes flashed at me from beneath the eyebrows.
Her head was bare, her chestnut hair was drawn
smoothly back from the temples into a thick plait,

4 ROUMANIAN STORIES

tied at the nape of the neck ; a white water-lily,
beautiful, as though cut out of silver, was fastened
among her rich tresses. Beneath a white chemise
her bosom rose and fell, a blue skirt fell plainly to
her ankles.

Suddenly she raised her head and looked shyly
at me as she smiled. Her teeth shone between her
thin lips. Then, with her eyes, she gave me the
signal : " Come ! "

I followed her. She moved swiftly ; her well-
developed form was clearly outlined beneath her
thin garments. From time to time she turned her
head, and her teeth flashed. She untied the boat,
jumped in and said curtly :

« Follow me ! "

After 1 was seated, she braced herself for the
effort, thrust in the long pole, and set the boat in
motion. For some time we glided through reeds
and rushes, and above great beds of weed. When
we reached open water she put down the pole, and
took to the oars. The boat cleft the deep water
which glowed with flames from the fire of the set-
ting sun. The oars splashed softly with a musical
sound. The girl's whole body moved with a rhyth-
mic grace that was unspeakably fascinating. The
silver lily quivered in the luxuriant chestnut hair.

Silence reigned over the lake. Water-lilies
shone in the golden sunset ; the reeds rustled
softly ; the dragon-flies passed like blue flashes
through the light.

THE FAIRY OF THE LAKE 5

Suddenly the girl turned her strange grey eyes
upon me.

" So to-night you will lie in wait for the
duck ? " she asked.

"Yes, I shall wait."

« Good."

Her voice had a melodious, silvery ring. I
questioned her :

" That seems strange to you ? "

" No," she said, turning her head away ; " but
aren't you afraid ? "

« Of what should I be afraid ? "

" Of the fairy of the lake," she replied with
conviction.

" Of the water lady ? Who is this fairy of the
lake?"

" What ? Do you not know ? The fairy of
the lake."

Her eyes scanned my face intently.

The sun had nearly set ; the water of the lake
grew dark ; a heron passed above us scarcely
moving its wings ; its cries sent a shudder of sad-
ness through the silence of the forest of reeds.
The girl looked at me, and her teeth shone with a
smile of almost diabolical beauty : her clear-cut face
seemed to reflect the colour of the green water. I
cannot describe what 1 felt ; only the charm of the
speaker was astounding. In that framework of
reeds and creepers — set as it were between two
skies — she was the fairy of the lake.

6 ROUMANIAN STORIES

The boat struck the side of a cave and remained
fast.

" Here we are," said the girl.

Slowly I stepped ashore. But the charm made
my head reel. I turned abruptly, took her face
between my hands, and would have kissed those
eyes in whose depths the secret of the lake lay hid.
She resisted gracefully with little movements, and
trills of laughter, and instead of kissing her eyes I
touched her lips which burnt like fire.

I felt her draw herself away, I felt those strange
eyes piercing through me, and the boat shot away
into the reeds and creepers. The lake remained
desolate, and in the silence only the gentle splash of
distant oars could be heard. I prepared myself a
little bed of reeds in the cave. I spread out my
serge cloak, tried the triggers of my gun, and while
I waited for the duck I fell into a brown study.
How strange ! I was perfectly conscious of my
position ; I knew quite well that the fairy was none
other than Zamfira, the miller's niece, the sunburnt,
and perhaps, the simple maiden ; and in spite of
this, the eyes, and the laughter, had something
about them that intoxicated me like the strong per-
fume of some wild flower.

In the gradually deepening shadows of the twi-
light she remained like some vision, floating on the
bosom of the lake, among the blossoms of the
water-lilies. I was roused by the rapid whirr of
wings. I started up. A flight of duck passed

THE FAIRY OF THE LAKE 7

over me. This event drove away my preoccupation.
I steadied the gun in my hands and put it at full
cock. In the reeds, torn and beaten by the wings of
the duck, coot and moor-hens called to each other ;
a light breeze ruffled the forest of reeds. Small
flocks of birds passed through the darkness of the
night. I fired a few shots. The gun made a deep
sound which echoed far across the water ; one or
two duck detached themselves from the group, and
fell heavily to the surface of the lake, troubling the
water. The darkness increased, it was impossible
to distinguish the duck, one could only hear the
rustle of their flight, like a brief wind. The evening
breeze dropped, and a calm spread itself over the
lake : only great black birds flew overhead, noisily
crying : " Chaw ! Chaw ! " From time to time, in
the silence of the night, could be heard the deep,
lugubrious, indistinct note of the bittern.

Stars glowed overhead, and in the depths of the
water — the moon would not rise for nearly another
hour. 1 wrapped myself in my cloak, and began to
ponder over those grey eyes. In the silence, which
grew ever deeper, the noise of the mill and of the
weir could be heard afar off; somewhere a dog
barked in its kennel ; from some hill, lighting the
darkness, one caught the twinkle of a bright flame.
The supple body, the eyes, and the laughter, the
lily blossom which harmonized so well with the lake
and with the green lights in the eyes, tantalized me.
Now she was no longer the simple maiden, kissed

8 ROUMANIAN STORIES

by the sun and caressed by the wind ; every move-
ment, every look, had something particular about it.
And also something strange.

I had never seen her when I visited the mill.
I had heard of the old man's devilish niece, but I
had never set eyes upon her. But now an incident
recurred to my mind, to which, at the time, I had
paid scant attention. On one occasion 1 had per-
ceived a pair of restless eyes peeping at me through
a chink in the mill bridge. Those eyes were surely
hers ; they sparkled so — and were so full of light
and mirth. There, in the dark night, that ardent
kiss seemed to burn me and I waited — I waited for
something that I could not explain even to myself.

I dozed, dreaming of those grey eyes. I cannot
tell — perhaps I fell asleep. I awoke in the full
light of the moon which was flooding atmosphere
and lake with its silver beams. The water glittered,
the night was still, the mill was silent ; in the
distance the weir was murmuring as in a dream.

Here and there, the water rippled into circles the
colour of agate ; groups of duck were bathing in
the moonlight. I put my hand to my gun. I
raised my eyes, I was ready to pull — when I paused.
A melodious song, scarcely intelligible, could be
heard coming from the lake. It was a simple song,
and monotonous, but its remoteness, the echo across
the water, the clear light of the moon, lent it a
profound charm. I immediately thought of the lady
of the lake.

THE FAIRY OF THE LAKE 9

I placed my gun beside me and listened. It was
a simple and touching melody. It had ceased for
some time, but I still strained my ears ; I could
only catch the soft murmur of the distant weir.
Time passed, and yet I still expected something to
happen.

After a while I heard distinctly the soft splash of
oars. I looked everywhere, I could not make out
whence it came. Then, suddenly, amid the obscurity
of the rushes, the gently floating boat came gliding
into the sea of light with the girl reclining in the
silvery beams. The lily shone in her dark hair.

I cannot tell you what I felt, for the storm of
emotion cannot be expressed in words, and besides
that, I was young then, and half a century has
passed since my youth. I know I stood with
wondering eyes and gazed like one possessed : in
very truth this was the fairy of the lake !

All at once I saw a movement. The boat
turned, and the oars struck the water, making great
ripples of light. It was directed towards my cave.
She came with wild speed, staring, her great eyes
like phosphorescent stars. But when she got near,
she once more let the boat glide, then turned
abruptly, and laughing passed by the cave — a silvery
laugh, which 1 have never forgotten, no, not to this
day although it is so long ago. She passed by like
a phantom, laughing, and her eyes shining like two
stars in the night of those great eyebrows. To the
right of me she rose, and threw something towards

io ROUMANIAN STORIES

me ; then, sinking down, she again took the oars>
struck the water, and shot out into the open lake.

She disappeared. One could only hear the soft
stroke of the oars ; then that, too, ceased, and
perfect silence fell upon the silvery lake.

By my side I found a bouquet of carnations and
sweet basil, the flowers of love.

At daybreak the old man came to take me off.
When I turned towards the yard I once again bent
my head in the direction of the old black building.
Eyes watched me through the chink in the mill
bridge.

That very day I went away. Many a time have
I wanted to return to the old Zavu mill, but fate
has willed it otherwise. At last, when I could have
done so, other loves have held me in other places.
Years have passed, but the bunch of dried carnations
and basil reminds me of it all. And from time to
time, my thoughts wander to the fairy of the lake.

THE EASTER TORCH

BY I. L. CARAGIALE

E~1IBA ZIBAL, mine host of Podeni, was sitting
lost in thought, by a table placed in the
shadow in front of the inn ; he was awaiting
the arrival of the coach which should have come
some time ago ; it was already an hour behind time.

The story of Zibal's life is a long and cheerless
one : when he is taken with one of his feverish
attacks it is a diversion for him to analyse one by
one the most important events in that life.

Huckster, seller of hardware, jobber, between
whiles even rougher work perhaps, seller of old
clothes, then tailor, and boot-black in a dingy
alley in Jassy ; all this had happened to him
since the accident whereby he lost his situation as
office boy in a big wine-shop. Two porters were
carrying a barrel down to a cellar under the super-
vision of the lad Zibal. A difference arose between
them as to the division of their earnings. One of
them seized a piece of wood that lay at hand and
struck his comrade on the forehead, who fell to the

12 ROUMANIAN STORIES

ground covered in blood. At the sight of the wild
deed the boy gave a cry of alarm, but the wretch
hurried through the yard, and in passing gave the
lad a blow. Zibal fell to the ground fainting with
fear. After several months in bed he returned to
his master, only to find his place filled up. Then
began a hard struggle for existence, which increased
in difficulty after his marriage with Sura. Their
hard lot was borne with patience. Sura's brother,
the inn-keeper of Podeni, died ; the inn passed into
Zibal's hands, and he carried on the business on his
own account.

Here he had been for the last five years. He
had saved a good bit of money and collected good
wine — a commodity that will always be worth good
money — Leiba had escaped from poverty, but they
were all three sickly, himself, his wife, and his child,
all victims of malaria, and men are rough and
quarrelsome in Podeni — slanderous, scoffers, revilers,
accused of vitriol throwing. And the threats ! A
threat is very terrible to a character that bends easily
beneath every blow. The thought of a threat
worked more upon Leiba's nerves than did his
attacks of fever.

" Oh, wretched Gentile ! " he thought, sighing.

This " wretched " referred to Gheorghe — wher-
ever he might be ! — a man between whom and
himself a most unpleasant affair had arisen.

Gheorghe came to the inn one autumn morning,
tired with his walk ; he was just out of hospital —

THE EASTER TORCH 13

so he said — and was looking for work. The inn-
keeper took him into his service. But Gheorghe
showed himself to be a brutal and a sullen man.
He swore continually, and muttered to himself
alone in the yard. He was a bad servant, lazy and
insolent, and he stole. He threatened his mistress
one day when she was pregnant, cursing her, and
striking her on the stomach. Another time he set
a dog on little Strul.

Leiba paid him his wages at once, and dismissed
him. But Gheorghe would not go : he asserted
with violence that he had been engaged for a year.
Then the innkeeper sent to the town hall to get
guards to remove him.

Gheorghe put his hand swiftly to his breast,
crying :

" Jew ! " and began to rail at his master. Un-
fortunately, a cart full of customers arrived at that
moment. Gheorghe began to grin, saying :
" What frightened you, Master Leiba ? Look, I
am going now." Then bending fiercely over the
bar towards Leiba, who drew back as far as possible,
he whispered : " Expect me on Easter Eve ; we'll
crack red eggs together, Jew ! You will know then
what I have done to you, and I will answer for it."

Just then, customers entered the inn.

" May we meet in good health at Easter, Master
Leiba ! " added Gheorghe as he left.

Leiba went to the town hall, then to the sub-

i4 ROUMANIAN STORIES

prefecture to denounce the threatener, begging
that he might be watched. The sub-prefect was
a lively young man ; he first accepted Leiba's
humble offering, then he began to laugh at the
timid Jew, and make fun of him. Leiba tried hard
to make him realize the gravity of the situation, and
pointed out how isolated the house stood from the
village, and even frem the high road. But the sub-
prefect, with a more serious air, advised him to be
prudent ; he must not mention such things, for,
truly, it would arouse the desire to do them in a
village where men were rough and poor, ready to
break the law.

A few days later, an official with two riders came
to see him about Gheorghe ; he was " wanted " for
some crime.

If only Leiba had been able to put up with him
until the arrival of these men ! In the meanwhile,
no one knew the whereabouts of Gheorghe.
Although this had happened some time ago,
Gheorghe's appearance, the movement as though
he would have drawn something from his breast,
and the threatening words had ail remained deeply
impressed upon the mind of the terror-stricken
man. How was it that that memory remained so
clear ?

It was Easter Eve.

From the top of the hill, from the village lying
among the lakes about two miles away, came the
sound of church bells. One hears in a strange way

THE EASTER TORCH 15

when one is feverish, now so loud, now so far away.
The coming night was the night before Easter, the
night of the fulfilment of Gheorghe's promise.

" But perhaps they have caught him by now ! "

Moreover, Zibal only means to stay at Podeni
till next quarter-day. With his capital he could
open a good business in Jassy. In a town, Leiba
would regain his health, he would go near the
police station — he could treat the police, the com-
missionaires, the sergeants. Who pays well gets
well guarded.

In a large village, the night brings noise and
light, not darkness and silence as in the isolated
valley of Podeni. There is an inn in Jassy. — there
in the corner, just the place for a shop ! An inn
where girls sing all night long, a Caf£ Chantant.
What a gay and rousing life ! There, at all hours
of the day and night, officials and their girls, and
other dirty Christians will need entertainment.

What is the use of bothering oneself here where
business keeps falling off, especially since the coming
of the railway which only skirts the marshes at
some distance?

" Leiba," calls Sura from within, " the coach is
coming, one can hear the bells."

The Podeni valley is a ravine enclosed on all
sides by wooded hills. In a hollow towards the
south lie several deep pools caused by the springs
which rise in the hills ; above them lie some
stretches of ground covered with bushes and rushes.

1 6 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Leiba's hotel stands in the centre of the valley,
between the pools and the more elevated ground to
the north ; it is an old stone building, strong as a
small fortress : although the ground is marshy,
the walls and cellars are very dry.

At Sura's voice Leiba raises himself painfully
from his chair, stretching his tired limbs ; he takes
a long look towards the east, not a sign of the
diligence.

" It is not coming ; you imagined it," he replied
to his wife, and sat down again.

Very tired the man crossed his arms on the
table, and laid his head upon them, for it was burn-
ing. The warmth of the spring sun began to strike
the surface of the marshes and a pleasant lassitude
enveloped his nerves, and his thoughts began to run
riot as a sick man's will, gradually taking on strange
forms and colours.

Gheorghe — Easter Eve — burglars — Jassy — the
inn in the centre of the town — a gay restaurant
doing well — restored health.

And he dozed.

Sura and the child went without a great deal up
here.

Leiba went to the door of the inn and looked
out on to the road.

On the main road there was a good deal of
traffic, an unceasing noise of wheels accompanied by
the rhythmic sound of horses' hooves trotting upon
the smooth asphalt.

THE EASTER TORCH 17

But suddenly the traffic stopped, and from
Copou a group of people could be seen approaching,
gesticulating and shouting excitedly.

The crowd appeared to be escorting somebody :
soldiers, a guard and various members of the public.
Curious onlookers appeared at every door of the inn.

" Ah," thought Leiba, " they have laid hands
on a thief."

The procession drew nearer. Sura detached
herself from the others, and joined Leiba on the
steps of the inn.

" What is it, Sura ? " he asked.

" A madman escaped from Golia."

" Let us close the inn so that he cannot get
at us."

" He is bound now, but just now he escaped.
He fought with all the soldiers. A rough Gentile
in the crowd pushed a Jew against the madman and
he bit him on the cheek."

Leiba could see well from the steps ; from the
stair below Sura watched with the child in her
arms.

It was, in fact, a violent lunatic held on either
side by two men : his wrists were tightly bound
over each other by a thick cord. He was a man of
gigantic stature with a head like a bull, thick black
hair, and hard, grizzled beard and whiskers.
Through his shirt, which had been torn in the
struggle, his broad chest was visible, covered like
his head, with a mass of hair. His feet were bare ;

c

i8 ROUMANIAN STORIES

his mouth was full of blood, and he continually spat
out hair which he had bitten from the Jew's beard.

Every one stood still. Why ? The guards
unbound the lunatic's hands. The crowd drew to
one side, leaving a large space around him. The
madman looked about him, and his fierce glance
rested upon Zibal's doorway ; he gnashed his teeth,
made a dash for the three steps, and in a flash,
seizing the child's head in his right hand and Sura's
in his left, he knocked them together with such
force that they cracked like so many fresh eggs.
A sound was heard, a scrunching impossible to
describe, as the two skulls cracked together.

Leiba, with bursting heart, like a man who falls
from an immense height, tried to cry out : " The
whole world abandons me to the tender mercies of
a madman 1 " But his voice refused to obey him.

" Get up, Jew 1 " cried some one, beating loudly
upon the table with a stick.

" It's a bad joke," said Sura from the doorway
of the inn, " thus to frighten the man out of his
sleep, you stupid peasant ! "

" What has scared you, Jew ? " asked the wag,
laughing. " You sleep in the afternoon, eh ?
Get up, customers are coming, the mail coach is
arriving."

And, according to his silly habit which greatly
irritated the Jew, he tried to take his arm and tickle
him.

" Let me alone ! " cried the innkeeper, drawing

THE EASTER TORCH 19

back and pushing him away with all his might
" Can you not see that I am ill ? Leave me in
peace."

The coach arrived at last, nearly three hours
late. There were two passengers who seated them-
selves together with the driver, whom they had
invited to share their table.

The conversation of the travellers threw a light
upon recent events. At the highest posting station,
a robbery with murder had been committed during
the night in the inn of a Jew. The murdered inn-
keeper should have provided change of horses.
The thieves had taken them, and while other horses
were being found in the village the curious travellers
could examine the scene of the crime at their
leisure. Five victims ! But the details ! From
just seeing the ruined house one could believe it to
have been some cruel vendetta or the work of some
religious fanatic. In stories of sectarian fanaticism
one heard occasionally of such extravagant crimes.

Leiba shook with a violent access of fever and
listened aghast.

What followed must have undoubtedly filled
the driver with respect. The young passengers
were two students, one of philosophy, the other of
medicine ; they were returning to amuse themselves
in their native town. They embarked upon a
violent academic discussion upon crime and its
causes, and, to give him his due, the medical
student was better informed than the philosopher.

20 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Atavism ; alcoholism and its pathological con-
sequences ; defective birth ; deformity ; Paludism ;
then nervous disorders ! Such and such conquest
of modern science — but the case of reversion to
type 1 Darwin, Hackel, Lombroso. At the case
of reversion to type, the driver opened wide his
eyes in which shone a profound [admiration for the
conquests of modern science.

"It is obvious," added the medical student.
" The so-called criminal proper, taken as a type, has
unusually long arms, and very short feet, a flat and
narrow forehead, and a much developed occiput.
To the experienced eye his face is characteristically
coarse and bestial ; he is rudimentary man : he is,
as I say, a beast which has but lately got used to
standing on its hind legs only, and to raising its
head towards the sky, towards the light."

At the age of twenty, after so much excitement,
and after a good repast with wine so well vinted,
and so well matured as Leiba's, a phrase with a
lyrical touch came well even from a medical
student.

Between his studies of Darwin and Lombroso,
the enthusiastic youth had found time to imbibe a
little Schopenhauer — " towards the sky, towards the
light ! "

Leiba was far from understanding these " illu-
minating" ideas. Perhaps for the first time did
such grand words and fine subtleties of thought
find expression in the damp atmosphere of Podeni.

THE EASTER TORCH 21

But that which he understood better than anything,
much better even than the speaker, was the striking
illustration of the theory : the case of reversion to
type he knew in flesh and blood, it was the portrait
of Gheorghe. This portrait, which had just been
drawn in broad outline only, he could fill in
perfectly in his own mind, down to the most
minute details.

» » • • »

The coach had gone. Leiba followed it with
his eyes until, turning to the left, it was lost to
sight round the hill. The sun was setting behind
the ridge to the west, and the twilight began to
weave soft shapes in the Podeni valley.

The gloomy innkeeper began to turn over in
his mind all that he had heard. In the dead of
night, lost in the darkness, a man, two women and
two young children, torn without warning from the
gentle arms of sleep by the hands of beasts with
human faces, and sacrificed one after the other, the
agonized cries of the children cut short by the
dagger ripping open their bodies, the neck slashed
with a hatchet, the dull rattle in the throat with
each gush of blood through the wound ; and the
last victim, half-distraught, in a corner, witness of
the scene, and awaiting his turn. A condition
far worse than execution was that of the Jew
without protection in the hands of the Gentile —
skulls too fragile for such fierce hands as those of
the madman just now.

22 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Leiba's lips, parched with fever, trembled as
they mechanically followed his thoughts. A violent
shivering fit seized him ; he entered the porch of
the inn with tottering steps.

" There is no doubt," thought Sura, " Leiba is
not at all well, he is really ill ; Leiba has got
* ideas' into his haftd. Is not that easy to under-
stand after all he has been doing these last days, and
especially after what he has done to-day ? "

He had had the inn closed before the lights
were lit, to remain so until the Sabbath was ended.
Three times had some customers knocked at the
door, calling to him, in familiar voices, to undo it.
He had trembled at each knock and had stood still,
whispering softly and with terrified eyes :

" Do not move — I want no Gentiles here."

Then he had passed under the portico, and had
listened at the top of the stone steps by the door
which was secured with a bar of wood. He shook
so that he could scarcely stand, but he would not
rest. The most distressing thing of all was that, he
had answered Sura's persistent questions sharply,
and had sent her to bed, ordering her to put out
the light at once. She had protested meanwhile,
but the man had repeated the order curtly enough,
and she had had unwillingly to submit, resigning
herself to postponing to a later date any explanation
of his conduct.

Sura had put out the lamp, had gone to bed, and
now slept by the side of Strul.

THE EASTER TORCH 23

The woman was right. Leiba was really ill.

Night had fallen. For a long time Leiba had
been sitting, listening by the doorway which gave on
to the passage.

What is that ?

Indistinct sounds came from the distance —
horses trotting, the noise of heavy blows, mysterious
and agitated conversations. The effort of listening
intently in the solitude of the night sharpens the
sense of hearing : when the eye is disarmed and
powerless, the ear seems to struggle to assert its
power.

But it was not imagination. From the road
leading hither from the main road came the sound
of approaching horses. Leiba rose, and tried to get
nearer to the big door in the passage. The door
was firmly shut by a heavy bar of wood across it,
the ends of which ran into holes in the walh At
his first step the sand scrunching under his slippers
made an indiscreet noise. He drew his feet from
his slippers, and waited in the corner. Then, with-
out a sound that could be heard by an unexpectant
ear, he went to the door in the corridor, just as the
riders passed in front of it at walking pace. They
were speaking very low to each other, but not so
low but that Leiba could quite well catch these
words :

" He has gone to bed early."

" Supposing he has gone away ? "

24 ROUMANIAN STORIES

"His turn will come; but I should have
liked "

No more was intelligible ; the men were already
some way away.

To whom did these words refer ? Who had
gone to bed or gone away ? Whose turn would
come another time ? Who would have liked some-
thing ? And what was it he wanted ? What did
they want on that by-road — a road only used by
anyone wishing to find the inn ?

An overwhelming sense of fatigue seemed to
overcome Leiba.

" Could it be Gheorghe ? "

Leiba felt as if his strength was giving way, and
he sat down by the door. Eager thoughts chased
each other through his head, he could not think
clearly or come to any decision.

Terrified, he re-entered the inn, struck a match,
and lighted a small petroleum lamp,

It was an apology for a light ; the wick was
turned so low as to conceal the flame in the brass
receiver ; only by means of the opening round the
receiver could some of the vertical shafts of light
penetrate into a gloom that was like the darkness of
death — all the same it was sufficient to enable him
to see well into the familiar corners of the inn. Ah !
How much less is the difference between the sun
and the tiniest spark of light than between the
latter and the gloom of blindness.

The clock on the wall ticked audibly. The

THE EASTER TORCH 25

monotonous sound irritated Leiba. He put his
hand over the swinging pendulum, and stayed its
movement.

His throat was parched. He was thirsty. He
washed a small glass in a three-legged tub by the
side of the bar and tried to pour some good brandy
out of a decanter ; but the mouth of the decanter
began to clink loudly on the edge of the glass.
This noise was still more irritating. A second
attempt, in spite of his effort to conquer his weak-
ness, met with no greater success.

Then, giving up the idea of the glass, he let it
fall gently into the water, and drank several times
out of the decanter. After that he pushed the
decanter back into its place ; as it touched the shelf
it made an alarming clatter. For a moment he
waited, appalled by such a catastrophe. Then he
took the lamp, and placed it in the niche of the
window which lighted the passage : the door,
the pavement, and the wall which ran at right angles
to the passage, were illuminated by almost imper-
ceptible streaks of light.

He seated himself near the doorway and listened
intently.

From the hill came the sound of bells ringing in
the Resurrection morning. It meant that midnight
was past, day was approaching. Ah ! If only the
rest of this long night might pass as had the first
half!

The sound of sand trodden underfoot ! But he

26 ROUMANIAN STORIES

was sitting in the corner, and had not stirred ; a
second noise, followed by many such. There could
be no doubt some one was outside, here, quite near.
Leiba rose, pressing his hand to his heart, and
trying to swallow a suspicious lump in his throat.

There were several people outside — and
Gheorghe ! Yes, he was there ; yes, the bells on
the hill had rung the Resurrection.

They spoke softly :

" I tell you he is asleep. I saw when the lights
went out."

*' Good, we will take the whole nest."

" I will undo the door, I understand how it
works. We must cut an opening — the beam runs
along here."

He seemed to feel the touch of the men outside
as they measured the distance on the wood. A big
gimlet could be heard boring its way through the
dry bark of the old oak. Leiba felt the need of
support ; he steadied himself against the door with
his left hand while he covered his eyes with the
right.

Then, through some inexplicable play of the
senses, he heard, from within, quite loud and clear :

" Leiba ! Here comes the coach."

It was surely Sura's voice. A warm ray of
hope ! A moment of joy ! It was just another
dream ! But Leiba drew his left hand quickly
back ; the point of the tool, piercing the wood at
that spot, had pricked the palm of his hand.

THE EASTER TORCH 27

Was there any chance of escape ? Absurd 1
In his burning brain the image of the gimlet took
inconceivable dimensions. The instrument, turn-
ing continually, grew indefinitely, and the opening
became larger and larger, large enough at last to
enable the monster to step through the round
aperture without having to bend. All that surged
through such a brain transcends the thoughts of
man ; life rose to such a pitch of exaltation that
everything seen, heard, felt, appeared to be enormous,
the sense of proportion became chaotic.

The work outside was continued with method
and perseverance. Four times in succession Leiba
had seen the sharp steel tooth pierce through to his
side and draw back again.

" Now, give me the saw," said Gheorghe.

The narrow end of a saw appeared through the
first hole, and started to work with quick, regular
movements. The plan was easy to understand ;
four holes in four corners of one panel ; the saw
made cuts between them ; the gimlet was driven
well home in the centre of the panel ; when the
piece became totally separated from the main body
of the wood it was pulled out ; through the open-
ing thus made a strong hand inserted itself, seized
the bar, pushed it to one side and — Gentiles are in
Leiba's house.

In a few moments, this same gimlet would cause
the destruction of Leiba and his domestic hearth.
The two executioners would hold the victim

28 ROUMANIAN STORIES

prostrate on the ground, and Gheorghe, with heel
upon his body, would slowly bore the gimlet into
the bone of the living breast as he had done into
the dead wood, deeper and deeper, till it reached the
heart, silencing its wild beatings and pinning it to
the spot.

Leiba broke into a cold sweat ; the man was
overcome by his own imagination, and sank softly
to his knees as though life were ebbing from him
under the weight of this last horror, overwhelmed
by the thought that he must abandon now all hope
of saving himself.

" Yes 1 Pinned to the spot," he said, despair-
ingly. " Yes ! Pinned to the spot."

He stayed a moment, staring at the light by the
window. For some moments he stood aghast, as
though in some other world, then he repeated with
quivering eyelids :

" Yes ! Pinned to the spot."

Suddenly a strange change took place in him, a
complete revulsion of feeling ; he ceased to tremble,
his despair disappeared, and his face, so discomposed
by the prolonged crisis, assumed an air of strange
serenity. He straightened himself with the decision of
a strong and healthy man who makes for an easy goal.

The line between the two upper punctures of
the panel was finished. Leiba went up, curious to
see the working of the tool. His confidence became
more pronounced. He nodded his head as though
to say : "I still have time."

THE EASTER TORCH 29

The saw cut the last fibre near the hole towards
which it was working, and began to saw between the
lower holes.

"There are still three," thought Leiba, and with
the caution of the most experienced burglar he
softly entered the inn. He searched under the bar,
picked up something, and went out again as he
entered, hiding the object he had in his hand as
though he feared somehow the walls might betray
him, and went back on tiptoe to the door.

Something terrible had happened ; the work
outside had ceased — there was nothing to be heard.

" What is the matter ? Has he gone ? What
has happened ? " flashed through the mind of the
man inside. He bit his lower lip at such a thought,
full of bitter disappointment.

" Ha, ha 1 " It was an imaginary deception ;
the work began again, and he followed it with the
keenest interest, his heart beating fast. His decision
was taken, he was tormented by an incredible desire
to see the thing finished.

" Quicker ! " he thought, with impatience.
" Quicker ! "

Again the sound of bells ringing on the hill.

" Hurry up, old fellow, the daylight will catch
us ! " said a voice outside, as though impelled by
the will of the man within.

The work was pushed on rapidly. Only a few
more movements and all the punctures in the panel
would be united.

30 ROUMANIAN STORIES

At last !

Gently the drill carried out the four-sided piece
of wood. A large and supple hand was thrust in ;
but before it reached the bars it sought two screams
were heard, while, with great force, Leiba enclosed
it with the free end of the noose, which was round
a block fixed to the cellar door.

The trap was ingeniously contrived : a long
rope fastened round a block of wood ; lengthwise,
at the place where the sawn panel had disappeared,
was a spring-ring which Leiba held open with his left
hand, while at the same time his right hand held the
other end taut. At the psychological moment he
sprang the ring, and rapidly seizing the free end of
the rope with both hands he pulled the whole arm
inside by a supreme effort.

In a second the operation was complete. It was
accompanied by two cries, one of despair, the other
of triumph : the hand is " pinned to the spot."
Footsteps were heard retreating rapidly : Gheorghe's
companions were abandoning to Leiba the prey so
cleverly caught.

The Jew hurried into the inn, took the lamp
and with a decided movement turned up the wick
as high as it would go : the light concealed by the
metal Deceiver rose gay and victorious, restoring
definite outlines to the nebulous forms around.

Zibal went into the passage with the lamp.
The burglar groaned terribly ; it was obvious from
the stiffening of his arm that he had given up the

THE EASTER TORCH 31

useless struggle. The hand was swollen, the fingers
were curved as though they would seize something.
The Jew placed the lamp near it — a shudder, the
fever is returning. He moved the light quite close,
until, trembling, he touched the burglar's hand with
the burning chimney ; a violent convulsion of the
finger was followed by a dull groan. Leiba was
startled at the sight of this phenomenon.

Leiba trembled — his eyes betrayed a strange
exaltation. He burst into a shout of laughter
which shook the empty corridor and resounded in
the inn.

Day was breaking.

Sura woke up suddenly — in her sleep she seemed
to hear a terrible moaning. Leiba was not in the
room. All that had happened previously returned
to her mind. Something terrible had taken place.
She jumped out of bed and lighted the candle.
Leiba's bed had not been disturbed. He had not
been to bed at all.

Where was he ? The woman glanced out of
the window ; on the hill in front shone a little
group of small bright lights, they flared and jumped,
now they died away, now, once more, soared up-
wards. They told of the Resurrection. Sura
undid the window ; then she could hear groans
from down by the door. Terrified, she hurried
down the stairs. The corridor was lighted up.
As she emerged through the doorway, the woman
was astonished by a horrible sight.

32 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Upon a wooden chair, his elbows on his knees,
his beard in his hand, sat Leiba. Like a scientist,
who, by mixing various elements, hopes to surprise
one of nature's subtle secrets which has long escaped
and worried him, Leiba kept his eyes fixed upon
some hanging object, black and shapeless, under
which, upon another chair of convenient height,
there burnt a big torch. He watched, without turn-
ing a hair, the process of decomposition of the hand
which most certainly would not have spared him.
He did not hear the groans of the unhappy being
outside : he was more interested, at present, in
watching than in listening.

He followed with eagerness each contortion,
every strange convulsion of the fingers till one by
one they became powerless. They were like the
legs of a beetle which contract and stretch, waving
in agitated movement, vigorously, then slower and
slower until they lie paralysed by the play of some
cruel child.

It was over. The roasted hand swelled slowly
and remained motionless. Sura gave a cry.

" Leiba I"

He made a sign to her not to disturb him. A
greasy smell of burnt flesh pervaded the passage : a
crackling and small explosions were heard.

" Leiba 1 What is it ? " repeated the woman.

It was broad day. Sura stretched forward and
withdrew the bar. The door opened outwards,
dragging with it Gheorghe's body, suspended by

THE EASTER TORCH 33

the right arm. A crowd of villagers, all carrying
lighted torches, invaded the premises.

" What is it ? What is it ? "

They soon understood what had happened.
Leiba, who up to now had remained motionless,
rose gravely to his feet. He made room for him-
self to pass, quietly pushing the crowd to one side.

" How did it happen, Jew ? " asked some one.

"Leiba Zibal," said the innkeeper in a loud
voice, and with a lofty gesture, " goes to Jassy to
tell the Rabbi that Leiba Zibal is a Jew no longer.
Leiba Zibal is a Christian — for Leiba Zibal has
lighted a torch for Christ."

And the man moved slowly up the hill, towards
the sunrise, like the prudent traveller who knows
that the long journey is not achieved with hasty
steps.

AT MANJOALA'S INN

BY I. L. CARAGIALE

IT took a quarter of an hour to reach Manjoala's
Inn. From there to Upper Popeshti was about
nine miles ; at an easy pace, that meant one
hour and a half. A good hack — if they gave it oats
at the inn, and three-quarters' of an hour rest —
could do it comfortably. That is to say, one
quarter of an hour and three-quarters of an hour
made one hour, on to Popeshti was one hour and a
half, that made two and a half. It was past seven
already ; at ten o'clock at latest, I should be with
Pocovnicu lordache. I was rather late — I ought to
have started earlier — but, after all, he expected me.

I was turning this over in my mind when I saw
in the distance, a good gun-shot length away, a
great deal of light coming from Manjoala's Inn, for
it still retained that name. It was now really
Madame Manjoala's inn — the husband died some
five years ago. What a capable woman ! How
she had worked, how she had improved the place !
They were on the point of selling the inn while her

35

36 ROUMANIAN STORIES

husband was alive. Since then she had paid off the
debts, and had repaired the house ; moreover, she
had built a flight of stone steps, and every one said
she had a good sum of money too. Some surmised
that she had found a hidden treasure, others that
she had dealings with the supernatural.

Once some robbers attempted an attack upon
her. They tried to force the door. One of them,
the strongest, a man like a bull, wielded the axe, but
when he tried to strike he fell to the ground.
They quickly raised him up — he was dead. His
brother tried to speak, but could not — he was dumb.
There were four of them. They hoisted the dead
man on to his brother's back, the other two took his
feet that they might carry him off to bury him some-
where away.

As they left the courtyard of the inn, Madame
Manjoala began to scream from the window,
" Thieves ! " and in front of her there suddenly
appeared the sub-prefect with numerous men and
four mounted soldiers. The official shouted :

" Who is there ? "

Two of the robbers escaped. The dumb man
remained behind with his dead brother on his back.

Now what happened at the trial ? Every one
knew the mute had been able to speak. How could
anyone doubt but that the dumb man was sham-
ming ? They beat him till he was crazy to try and
make his speech come back, but in vain. Since then
the lads had lost all desire to attack the place.

AT MANJOALA'S INN 37

While all this was passing through my mind I
arrived at the inn. A number of carts were waiting
in the yard of the inn. Some were carrying timber
down the valley ; others, maize up the hill.

It was a raw autumn evening. The drivers
were warming themselves round the fire. It was
the light from the latter that had been visible so far
away. An ostler took my horse in charge to give
him some oats in the stable. I entered the tap-room
where a good many men were drinking, while two
sleepy gipsies, one with a lute and one with a zither,
were playing monotonously in a corner. I was
hungry and cold. The damp had pierced through
me.

" Where's your mistress ? " I asked the boy
behind the bar.

" By the kitchen fire."

" It ought to be warmer there," I said, and
passed through the vestibule, out of the tap-room
into the kitchen.

It was very clean in the kitchen, and the smell
was not like that in the tap-room, of fur and boots
and damp shoes ; there was a smell of new-made
bread. Madame Manjoala was looking after the
oven.

" Well met, Mistress Marghioala."

" Welcome, Mr. Fanica."

" Is there a chance of getting anything to eat ? "

" Up to midnight even, for respectable people
like yourself."

38 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Mistress Marghioala quickly gave orders to one
of the servants to lay a table in the next room, and
then, going up to the hearth, said :

"Look, choose for yourself."

Mistress Marghioala was beautiful, well-built
and fascinating, that I knew ; but never since I had
known her — and I had known her for a long time,
for I had passed Manjoala's Inn many a time when
my dead father was alive, as the road to the town
led by it — had she appeared to me more attractive.
I was young, smart and daring, much more daring
than smart. I came up on her left side as she was
bending over the hearth, and took her by the waist !
with my hand I took hold of her right arm, which
was as hard as iron, and the devil tempted me to
give it a pinch.

" Have you got nothing to do ? " said the
woman, looking at me askance.

But I, to cover my blunder, said :

"What marvellous eyes you have, Mistress
Marghioala ! "

" Don't try and flatter me ; you had better tell
me what to give you."

" Give me — give me — give me yourself."

" Really "

" Indeed, you have marvellous eyes, Mistress
Marghioala ! " sighing.

" Supposing your father-in-law heard you ? "

" What father-in-law ? What do you mean by
that ? "

AT MANJOALA'S INN 39

"You think because you hide yourself under
your cap that nobody sees what you do. Aren't
you going to Pocovnicu lordache to engage yourself
to his eldest daughter ? Come, don't look at me like
that, go into the next room to dinner."

I had seen many clean and quiet rooms in the
course of my life, but a room like that one ! What a
bed ! What curtains ! WThat walls ! What a ceiling !
All white as milk. And the lamp-shade, and all those
crochet things of every kind and shape ! And the
warmth, like being under a hen's wing, and a smell
of apples and quinces !

I was about to seat myself at the table, when,
according to a habit I had acquired in my childhood,
I turned to bow towards the east. I looked carefully
round all along the walls — not an Icon to be seen.

" What are you looking for ? " said Mistress
Marghioala.

" Your Icons. Where do you keep them ? "

" Dash the Icons ! They only breed worms and
wood-lice."

What a cleanly woman ! I seated myself at the
table, and crossed myself as was my custom, when
suddenly there was a yell. It appeared that with the
heel of my boot I had trodden upon an old Tom
cat which was under the table.

Mistress Marghioala jumped up quickly and
undid the outside door. The injured cat made a
bound outside while the cold air rushed in and
extinguished the lamp. She groped about for the

40 ROUMANIAN STORIES

matches. I searched here, she searched there. We
met face to face in the dark. I, very bold, took her
in my arms and began to kiss her. The lady now
resisted, now yielded ; her cheeks were burning, her
mouth was cold, soft down fluttered about her ears.
At last the servant arrived with a tray with viands
on it, and a light. We must have hunted some time
for the matches, for the chimney of the lamp was
quite cold. I lit it again.

What excellent food ! Hot bread, roast duck
with cabbage, boiled veal sausages, and wine !
And Turkish coffee ! And laughter and conversa-
tion ! Good luck to Mistress Marghioala !
After coffee she said to the old maidservant :
" Tell them to bring out a half-bottle of mus-
cadine."

That wonderful old wine ! A sort of languor
seized my every limb. I sat on one side of the
bed, draining the last amber drops from my glass,
and smoking a cigarette, while through the cloud of
tobacco smoke I watched Mistress Marghioala who
sat on a chair opposite rolling cigarettes for me. I
said :

"Indeed, Mistress Marghioala, you have mar-
vellous eyes ! Do you know what ? "
« What ? "

" Would it trouble you to make me another cup
of coffee, not quite so sweet as this ? "

How she laughed ! When the maid brought
the coffee-pot, she said :

AT MANJOALA'S INN 41

" Madam, you sit talking here— you don't know
what it is like outside."

" What is it ? "

" A high wind has got up, and there is a storm
coming."

I jumped to my feet and looked at the time ; it
was nearly a quarter to eleven. Instead of half an
hour, I had been at the inn for two hours and a
half! That's what comes when one begins to talk.

" Let some one get my horse ! "

" Who ? The ostlers have gone to bed."

" I will go to the stables myself."

" They have bewitched you at Pocovnicu ! " said
the lady with a ripple of laughter, as she barred my
passage through the door.

I put her gently on one side and went out on to
the veranda. It was indeed a dreadful night. The
drivers' fires had died down, men and animals were
sleeping on the straw, lying one against the other on
the ground, while above them the wind howled
wildly.

" There is a great storm," said Mistress Mar-
ghioala, shuddering as she seized me firmly by the
hand. " You are mad to start in such weather.
Stay the night here : start at daybreak to-morrow."

" That's impossible."

I forcibly withdrew my hand. I proceeded to
the stables. With great difficulty I roused an
ostler and found my horse. I tightened the girths,
fastened the horse to the steps, and then went to

42 ROUMANIAN STORIES

the room to bid my hostess good night. The
woman, immersed in thought, was sitting on the
bed with my cap in her hand. She was turning
and twisting it about.

" How much have I to pay ? " I asked.

" You can pay me when you come back," replied
my hostess, looking intently into the lining of my
cap.

And then she rose to her feet and held it out to
me. I took the cap, and put it on my head, rather
on one side.

I said, looking straight into the woman's eyes,
which seemed to shine most strangely :

" I kiss your eyes, Mistress Marghioala ! "

" A safe journey to you."

I threw myself into the saddle, the old servant
opened the gate for me, and out I rode. Resting
my left hand on my horse's flank, I turned my
head round. Over the top of the fence could be
seen the open door of the room, and in the opening
was outlined the white figure of the woman with her
hand above her arched eyebrows.

I rode at a slow pace whistling a gay song to
myself until I turned the corner of the fence to get
to the road, when the picture was hidden from my
sight. I said to myself, " Here we go ! " and
crossed myself. At that moment I plainly heard
the banging of a door and the mew of a cat. My
hostess, unable to see me any longer, went hastily
back into the warmth and doubtless caught the cat

AT MANJOALA'S INN 43

in the door. That damned cat ! It was always
getting under people's feet.

I had gone a good part of the way. The storm
increased and shook me in the saddle. Overhead,
cloud after cloud hurried across the valley and
above the hill, as though in fear of chastisement
from on high ; now massed together, now dispersed,
they revealed at long intervals the pale light of the
waning moon.

The damp cold pierced through me. I felt it
paralysing legs and arms. As I rode with head
bent to avoid the buffeting of the wind, I began to
feel pains in my neck ; my forehead and temples
were burning, and there was a drumming in my ears.

" I have drunk too much," I thought to myself,
as I pushed my cap on to the nape of my neck, and
raised my forehead towards the sky.

But the whirling clouds made me dizzy. I felt
a burning sensation below my left rib. I drew in a
deep breath of cold air, and a knife seemed to drive
right through my chest. I tucked my chin down
again. My cap seemed to squeeze my head like a
vice. I took it off and placed it on the point of my
saddle. I felt ill. It was foolish of me to have started.
Everybody would be asleep at Pocovnicu lordache.
They would not have expected me. They would
not have imagined that I should be silly enough to
start in such weather. I urged on my horse which
staggered as though it, too, had been drinking.

The wind had sunk, the rain had ceased. It

44 ROUMANIAN STORIES

was misty ; it began to grow dark and to drizzle.
I put my cap on again. Suddenly the blood began
to beat against my temples. The horse was quite
done, exhausted by the violence of the wind. 1
dug my heels into him, I gave him a cut with my
whip ; the animal took a few hasty paces, then
snorted, and stood still on the spot as though he
had seen some unexpected obstacle in front of him.
I looked. I really saw, a few paces in front of the
horse, a tiny creature jumping and skipping. An
animal ! What could it be ? A wild beast ? It
was a very small one. I put my hand to my
revolver ; then I clearly heard the bleat of a kid.

I urged on the horse as much as I could. It
turned straight round and started to go back. A
few paces forward, and again it stood snorting.
The kid again ! The horse stopped ; it turned
round. I gave it some cuts with the whip and
tightened the curb. It moved forward — a few
paces — the kid again !

The clouds had dispersed. One could see now
as clearly as possible. It was a little black kid.
Now it trotted forward, now it turned back, it flung
out its hooves, and finally reared itself on to its
hind legs and ran about with its little beard in front,
and its head ready to butt, making wonderful bounds
and playing every kind of wild antic.

I got oflF my horse, which would not advance for
the world, and took the reins up short. I bent
down to the ground.

AT MANJOALA'S INN 45

" Come, come ! " I called the kid, with my hand
as though I wanted to give it some bran.

The kid approached, jumping continually. The
horse snorted madly, it tried to break away. I
went down on my knees, but I held the horse
firmly. The kid came close up to my hand. It
was a dear little black buck which allowed itself to
be petted and lifted up. I put it in the bag on the
right side among some clothes. At that moment
the horse was convulsed and shook in every limb
as though in its death throes.

I remounted. The horse started off like a mad
thing. For some time it went like the wind over
ditches, over mole-hills, over bushes, without my
being able to stop it, without my knowing where I
was, or being able to guess where it was taking me.
During this wild chase, when at any moment I
might have broken my neck, with body frozen and
head on fire, I thought of the comfortable haven I
had so stupidly left. Why ? Mistress Marghioala
would have given me her room, otherwise she
would not have invited me.

The kid was moving in the bag, trying to make
itself more comfortable. I looked towards it ; with
its intelligent little head stuck out of the bag it was
peering wisely at me. The thought of another
pair of eyes flashed through my mind. What a fool
I'd been.

The horse stumbled ; I stopped him forcibly ;
he tried to move on again, but sank to his knees.

46 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Suddenly, through an opening in the clouds,
appeared the waning moon, shining on the side of
a slope. The sight of it struck me all of a heap. It
was in front of me ! There were then two moons
in the sky ! I was going uphill ; the moon ought
to be behind me ! I turned my head quickly to see
the real moon. I had missed my way — I was going
downhill ! Where was I ? I looked ahead — a
maize-field with uncut stalks ; behind me lay open
field. I crossed myself, and pressing my horse with
my weary legs, I tried to help him rise. Just then
I felt a violent blow on my right foot. A cry ! I
had kicked the kid ! I put my hand quickly into
the bag ; the bag was empty. I had lost the kid on
the road ! The horse rose shaking its head as
though it were giddy. It reared on to its hind legs,
hurled itself on one side, and threw me to the
other ; finally he tore away like a thing possessed
and disappeared into the darkness.

By the time I got up, much shaken, I could hear
a rustle among the maize, and close by came the
sound of a man's voice saying clearly :

" Hi ! Hi ! May Heaven remove you ! "

" Who is there ? " I called.

" An honest man."

"Who?"

" Gheorghe."

" Which Gheorghe ? "

"Natrut — Gheorghe Natrut, who watches the
maize-fields."

AT MANJOALA'S INN 47

" Aren't you coming this way ? "

" Yes, here I come."

And the figure of a man became visible among
the maize.

" May I ask, brother Gheorghe, where we are at
this moment ? I have missed my way in the
storm."

" Where do you want to go to ? "

" To Upper Popeshti."

" Eh ! To Pocovnicu lordache."

"That's it."

" In that case you have not missed your road.
You'll have some trouble to get to Popeshti — you
are only at Haculeshti here."

"At Haculeshti ? " I said joyfully. " Then I
am close to Manjoala's Inn."

" Look there ; we are at the back of the
stables."

" Come and show me the way so that I don't
just go and break my neck."

I had been wandering about for four hours. A
few steps brought us to the inn. Mistress
Marghioala's room was lit up and shadows moved
across the curtain. Who knew what other, wiser
traveller had enjoyed that bed ! I should have to
rest content with some bench by the kitchen fire.
But what luck ! As I knocked some one heard
me. The old maidservant hurried to open to me.
As I entered I stumbled over something soft on the
threshold. The kid ! Did you ever ! It was my

48 ROUMANIAN STORIES

hostess' kid ! It, too, entered the room and went
and lay down comfortably under the bed.

What was I to say ? Did the woman know I
had returned, or had she got up very early ? The
bed was made.

" Mistress Marghioala ! " So much I was able
to say.

Wishing to thank God that I had escaped with
my life, I started to raise my right hand to my head.

The lady quickly seized my hand and pulling it
down, drew me with all her strength into her arms.

I can still see that room. What a bed ! What
curtains ! What walls ! What a ceiling ! All
white as milk. And the lamp-shade, and all those
crochet things of every kind and shape ! And the
warmth, like being under a hen's wing, and a smell
of apples and quinces !

• • • • •

I should have stayed a long time at Manjoala's
Inn if my father-in-law, Pocovnicu lordache, God
forgive him, had not fetched me away by force.
Three times I fled from him before the marriage,
and returned to the inn, until the old man, who at
all cost wanted me for a son-in-law, set men to
catch me and take me gagged to a little monastery
in the mountains. Forty days of fasting, genu-
flexions and prayers. I left it quite repentant. I
got engaged and I married.

Only lately, one clear winter's night, while my
father-in-law and I were sitting talking together, as

AT MANJOALA'S INN 49

is the custom of the country, in front of a flagon of
wine, we heard from a prefect, who arrived from
the town where he had been making some purchases,
that during the day there had been a big fire at
Haculeshti. Manjoala's Inn had been burnt to the
ground, burying poor Mistress Marghioala, who
thus met her end under a gigantic funeral pyre.

" And so at the last the sorceress was thrown on
the bonfire ! " said my father-in-law, laughing.

And I began to tell the above story for at least
the hundredth time. Pocovnicu maintained, among
other things, that the lady put a charm into the
lining of my cap, and that the kid and the cat were
one and the same.

« May be," 1 said.

" She was the devil, listen to me."

" She may have been,'* I replied, " but if that is
so, then the devil, it seems, leads to the good."

" At first it seems to be good, to catch one, but
later one sees where it leads one."

" How do you know all this ? "

" That's not your business," replied the old
man, " that's another story ! "

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU

1564-1569

BY C. NEGRUZZI

JACOB ERACLID, surnamed the "Despot,"
perished by the hand of Shtefan Tomsha,
who then proceeded to govern the land, but
Alexandra Lapushneanu, after two successive defeats
at the hands of the tyrant's forces, fled to Constanti-
nople, succeeded in securing aid from the Turkish
army, and returned to drive out the rapacious
Tomsha, and seize for himself the throne which he
never would have lost had the boyars not betrayed
him. He entered Moldavia accompanied by seven
thousand spahees and three thousand mixed troops.
He also brought with him imperial orders for Han
Tatar Nogai to collect some troops with which to
come to his aid.

Lapushneanu rode with Vornic Bogdan by his
side, both were mounted upon Turkish stallions,
and were armed from head to foot.

"What think you, Bogdan," he said after a
short pause, " shall we succeed ? "

51

52 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" How can your Highness doubt it," replied the
courtier, " the country groans under the harshness
of Tomsha. The whole army will surrender when
you promise them higher pay. Those boyars who
are still left [alive are only held back by fear of
death, but when they see that your Highness conies
with force they will at once flock to you, and desert
the other."

" Please God we shall not be obliged to do what
Voda Mircea did in Muntenia ; but as I have told
you, I know our boyars, for I have lived among
them."

"This matter must be left to your Highness's
sagacity."

Thus speaking they drew near to Tecuci where
they halted by a wood.

" Sire," said a messenger approaching, " some
boyars have arrived, and crave an audience of your
Highness."

"Let them come," replied Alexandru.

Four boyars soon entered the tent, where he
was sitting surrounded by his boyars and officers ;
two of them were elderly men but the other two
were young. They were Vornic Motzoc, Postelnic
Veveritza, Spancioc, the noble, and Stroici. They
approached Voda Alexandru, and bowed to the
ground, but without kissing the hem of his garment
as was the custom.

" Welcome, boyars ! " said Alexandru, forcing
himself to smile.

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 53

"Good health to your Highness," replied the
boyars.

" I have heard," pursued Alexandru, " of the
affliction of the land, and I have come to deliver it ;
I know the country awaits me with joy."

" Do not imagine that it is so, your Highness,"
said Motzoc. " The country is quiet ; it may be
your Highness has heard things that are not really
facts, it being the habit of our people to make
stallions out of mosquitoes. For this reason the
community has sent us to tell you that the people
do not want you, no one loves you, and your High-
ness has only to turn back "

" You may not want me, I want you," replied
Lapushneanu, and his eyes flashed like lightning.
" You may not love me, I will love you, and will
come among you with your consent or without it.
I turn back ? Sooner may the Danube change its
course ! Ah ! The country does not want me ?
Do I understand that you do not want me ? "

" One dare not behead ambassadors," said
Spancioc. " We are bound to tell you the truth.
The boyars have decided to take their way to
Hungary, to Poland, and to Muntenia, where they
all have relations and friends. They will come
with foreign armies, and woe betide the poor
country when we have war between us, and maybe
your Highness will not do well because Shtefan
Tomsha "

" Tomsha ! Has he taught you to speak with

54 ROUMANIAN STORIES

such temerity ? I know not what prevents me
from smashing the teeth in your jaw with this
club," he said, seizing the weapon from Bogdan's
hand. "Has that wretched Tomsha taught
you ? "

" He who is worthy to be named the Anointed
of God cannot be wretched," said Veveritza.

" Am not I, too, the Anointed of God ? Did
you not swear fealty to me when I was only Petre
Stolnic ? Did you not choose me ? What was my
reign like ! What blood have I shed ? Whom
have I turned from my door without due reward
and help ? And yet you do not want me, do not
love me ? Ha, ha, ha ! "

He laughed ; a laugh that distorted the muscles
of his face, and his eyes blinked incessantly.

" With your Highness's permission," said
Stroici, " we see that our country will once more
be under the heel of the heretics. When these
hordes of Turks have robbed and devastated the
land, over whom will your Highness reign ? "

"And with what will you satisfy the greed
of these heretics, whom your Highness has brought
with you ? " added Spancioc.

" With your possessions, not with the money
of the peasants whom you fleece. You milk the
country dry, but now the time has come when I
will milk you dry. Enough, boyars ! Return and
tell him who sent you to be on his guard lest I
catch him, if he would not have me make flutes

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 55

out of his bones, and cases for my drums out of his
skin." '

The boyars retired sadly ; Motzoc remained.

" Why do you stay ? " asked Lapushneanu.

" Sire ! Sire ! " said Motzoc, falling on his
knees. ** Reward us not after our iniquities !
Remember this is your native land, remember the
scriptural admonition to forgive your enemies !
Have pity on the poor land. Sire ! dismiss these
pagan armies ; come with only a few Moldavians
with you, and we will guarantee that not a hair
of your Highness's head shall be touched ; and
if you need armies we will arm our women and
our children, we will raise the country, we will
call up our retainers and our neighbours. Trust
yourself to us! "

" Trust myself to you ? " said Lapushneanu,
comprehending his plan. " Perchance you think
I do not know the Moldavian proverb : ' The
wolf may change his skin, but never his habits ' ?
Perchance I do not know you, you especially ? Do
I not know that when my army was outnumbered,
when you saw that I was defeated, you abandoned
me ? Veveritza is an old enemy of mine, but he
has never concealed the fact ; Spancioc is still
young, his heart is full of love for his country ; it
pleases me to see his pride which he does not
attempt to conceal. Stroici is a child, who does
not understand men yet, and does not know the
meaning of flattery, or a lie ; to him it seems that

56 ROUMANIAN STORIES

all birds that fly are fit to eat. But you, Motzoc,
seasoned veteran of hard times, accustomed to fawn
on every ruler, you have sold the Despot ; you
have sold me too, and will now sell Tomsha ; tell
me, should I not be an arch fool to put my trust
in you ? Still, I pardon you for daring to think
that you could cheat me, and I promise you my
sword shall not stain itself with your blood ; I will
spare you, for you are useful to me and will help to
bear my blame. The others are all drones, and the
hive must be freed from them."

Motzoc kissed his hand, like the dog which,
instead of biting, licks the hand that beats him.
He was grateful for the promise given him. He
knew that Voda Alexandru would have need of an
intriguer like himself. The deputies had been
commanded by Tomsha, in the event of their being
unable to turn Lapushneanu from his path, to take
the road to Constantinople, where by means of
petitions and bribes they were to try and compass
his overthrow. But seeing that he came with the
good will of the Porte itself, and, moreover, fearing
to return without any success to Tomsha, he begged
leave to remain in his company. This was Motzoc's
plan that he might himself adhere to Lapushneanu.
Leave was granted him.

• • • • •

Tomsha, not finding himself in a position to
offer resistance, fled into Valahia, and Lapushneanu
found no obstacle in his path. The people round

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 57

met him with joy and hope, reminding themselves
of his first reign, during which he had not had time
to develop his odious character.

But the boyars trembled. They had two great
reasons to be anxious : they knew that the people
hated them, and the monarch did not love them.

Immediately upon his arrival Lapushneanu gave
orders that all the Moldavian towns, except Hotin,
should be piled high with wood and burnt, wishing
thus to destroy the refuge of the discontented, who
many times, under the protection of their walls,
hatched plots and attempted rebellion. In order
to undermine the influence of the boyars, and to
root out the feudal communities, he despoiled them
of their estates under every kind of pretext ; in
this way he deprived them of their only means of
reducing and corrupting the populace.

But not deeming this plan sufficient he put
persons to death from time to time. For the
smallest official mistake, upon the utterance of the
slightest complaint, the head of the culprit was
spiked upon the gates of the churchyard, with a
placard setting forth his fault, real or imaginary ;
the rotting head was only removed to make room
for another.

No one dared to speak against him, much less
plot. A numerous guard of mercenaries, Albanians,
Serbs, Hungarians, driven out on account of their
misdeeds, found shelter with Alexandru, who bribed
them with high pay ; the Moldavian army, under

58 ROUMANIAN STORIES

captains who were his own creatures, he kept on the
frontiers, he gave the soldiers leave to go to their
own homes, retaining only a small number.

One day he was walking alone in the saloon of
the royal palace. He had had a long talk with
Motzoc, who was in great favour, and who had
departed after devising a scheme for some fresh tax.
He seemed restless, he talked to himself, and was
evidently meditating another death or some fresh
persecution when a side door opened, and admitted
the Princess Rucsanda.

At the death of her parent, the good Petru Raresh,
who — says the chronicle — was buried amidst much
lamentation and mourning in the sacred Monastery of
Probota, erected by himself, Rucsanda remained, at
a tender age, under the guardianship of her two
elder brothers, Iliash and Shtefan : Iliash, succeeding
his father upon the throne, after a short and stormy
reign, retired to Constantinople where he embraced
Mohammedanism, and Shtefan took his place upon
the throne. This man was more cruel than his
brother ; he began by compelling all strangers and
Catholics to renounce their religion, and many rich
families settled in the country went into exile on
this account, giving as a pretext the poverty of the
land and the decline in trade. The boyars, many
of whom were related by marriage to the Poles and
Hungarians, took offence, and entering into com-
munication with the exiled boyars decided that
Shtefan should perish. Perhaps they would have

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 59

delayed to put this plan into execution if his excesses
had not hastened it on. " No woman was safe from
his lust if she were fair," says the chronicler in his
naive fashion. One day when he was at Tzutzora,
instead of waiting for the arrival of the exiled boyars,
the boyars who were with him cut the ropes of the
tent under which he was seated, in order to prevent
his escape, and rushing upon him murdered him.

After this Rucsanda alone remained of the
family of Petru Raresh, and the murderous boyars
decided to give her as wife to one of their number
called Jolde, whom they had chosen to be their
ruler. But Lapushneanu, chosen by the exiled
boyars, met Jolde, whom he defeated, and seizing
him he cut off his nose, and turned him into a
monk ; in order to win the hearts of the people,
who still kept a lively recollection of Raresh, he
married, and took to himself Raresh's daughter.
Thus the gentle Rucsanda found herself the partner
of the conqueror.

When she entered the hall she was clothed with
all the magnificence due to the wife, daughter and
sister of a king.

Above a long garment of cloth of gold, open in
front, she wore a tight coat of blue velvet trimmed
with sable, and with long sleeves falling back ; she
wore a girdle of gold which fastened with big clasps
of jasper surrounded by precious stones ; round her
neck hung a necklace of many rows of pearls. A
cap of sable, placed rather on one side, was

60 ROUMANIAN STORIES

ornamented with a white aigrette studded with jewels
and held in place by a big emerald flower. Her
hair, according to the fashion of the day, was parted
and hung in braids over her back and shoulders.
Her face was of that beauty which once made famous
the Roumanian women, but which is rarely found to-
day, for it has degenerated through the mingling of
foreign blood. She was also sad and languishing,
like a flower exposed unshaded to the burning heat
of the sun. She had seen her father die, had
witnessed the abdication and withdrawal of one
brother and the murder of another. She had first
of all been destined by the community to be the
wife of Jolde — whom she did not know — then she
was forced by that same community, who disposed
without question of her heart, to give her hand to
Alexandru Voda whom she honoured and obeyed as
her husband, and whom she would have been ready
to love had she found in him the least trace of
human feeling. Drawing near, she bent and kissed
his hand. Lapushneanu took her by the waist, and
lifting her as though she were a feather placed her
upon his knee.

" What tidings, my fair lady ? " he said, kissing
her on the brow. " For what reason have you to-
day, which is not a feast day, deserted your spinning-
wheel ? What has roused you so early ? "

"The tears the widowed women shed at my
door, and which cry to the Lord Christ and the Holy
Virgin for vengeance for all the blood you shed."

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 61

Lapushneanu's face grew dark, and he unclasped
his hands ; Rucsanda fell at his feet.

" Oh, good my Lord 1 my brave husband ! "
she continued. " It is enough I You have spilt
so much blood, made so many widows, so many
orphans. Consider that your Highness is all
powerful, and that a few poor boyars cannot harm
you. What does your Highness lack ? You are
not at war with anyone ; the land is quiet and
submissive. I — God knows how much I love
you ! Your Highness's children are fair and young.
Reflect that after life comes ^death, and that your
Highness is mortal and must give acount of his
deeds, for blood is not redeemed by building monas-
teries ; especially is it tempting and insulting God
to deem that you can propitiate him by erecting
churches and "

" Thoughtless woman ! " cried Lapushneanu,
jumping to his feet, and from force of habit he
put his hand to the dagger at his belt ; but instantly
controlling himself, he bent forward, and raising
Rucsanda from the floor he said : " My wifr, do not
let such foolish words escape your lips, for God only
knows what might happen. Be thankful to the
great saint and martyr, Dimitric Isvoritor, of blessed
memory, to whose honour we dedicate the church
which we have built at Pangaratzi, that he has
hindered us from committing a great sin, and
caused us to remember that you are the mother of
our children."

62 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Even though I know you will murder me I
cannot keep silence. Yesterday when I wished to
come in, a woman with five children threw herself
in front of my carriage and stopped me to show me
a head fastened to the courtyard gate. * You will
have to answer for it, Madam,' she said to me, * if
you allow your husband to behead our fathers,
husbands and brothers. See, Madam, that is my
husband, the father of these children who are left
orphans ! Look well.' And she showed me the
gory head, and the head looked terribly at me !
Ah, Sire, since then I see that head incessantly, and
I am afraid ! I cannot rest ! "

"What will you ? " asked Lapushneanu, smiling.

" I will that you spill no more blood, that you
cease to kill, that I may see no more decapitated
heads which make my heart break."

" I promise you that after the day after to-
morrow you will see no more," replied Alexandru
Voda, " and to-morrow I will give you a remedy for
fear."

" What ? What does that mean ? "

"To-morrow you will see. Now, sweet lady,
go and see your children, and attend to your house
like a good mistress, and see to the preparations for
a feast, for to-morrow I give a great dinner to the
boyars."

The Princess Rucsanda departed after once more
kissing his hand. Her husband accompanied her to
the door.

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 63

" Ah, have you arranged everything ? " he asked,
moving quickly towards his esquire who entered at
that moment.

" Everything is ready."

"But will they come ?"

" They will come."

• • • • •

At eventide came the news that on the next day,
being Sunday, all the boyars were to assemble at the
Metropolitan Church, where the Prince would be
present to attend the Liturgy, and afterwards were
to feast at the court.

Upon the arrival of Alexandru Voda divine
service began ; the boyars were all assembled.
Contrary to his usual custom, Lapushneanu was
dressed with regal splendour that day. He wore the
crown of the Paleologs ; over his long Polish tunic
of crimson velvet, he wore a Turkish royal cloak.
He carried no weapon except a small dagger, inlaid
with gold ; but between the fastenings of the tunic
could be seen a shirt of mail.

After listening to divine service he descended
from his stall, prostrated himself before the Icon,
and approaching the shrine of St. John the New,
bent forward with great humility and kissed the
sacred relics. It is said that at that moment his
face was very yellow, and that the saintly shrine
shook.

Then once more ascending his stall, he turned to
the boyars and said :

64 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Most noble boyars ! From the time I assumed
kingship until this day, I have shown myself harsh
towards many : I have been cruel, severe, shedding
much blood. Only God knows how hard this has
been for me, and how I regret it, but you, boyars,
know that I have only been constrained thereto by
the desire to end the various quarrels and disputes
which aimed at the disturbance of the country and
my destruction. To-day the state of affairs is
different. The boyars have come to their senses ;
they have realized that the flock cannot exist with-
out a shepherd as the Saviour said : * They were
distressed and scattered as sheep not having a
shepherd.' Most noble boyars ! Let us hence-
forth live in peace, loving one another like brothers,
for this is one of the ten commandments : c Thou
shalt love thy neighbour as thyself/ and let us
pardon one another, seeing that we are mortal,
beseeching our Lord Jesus Christ " — here he made
the sign of the cross — " to forgive us our daily tres-
passes as we forgive those that trespass against us."

Having finished this disjointed speech, he passed
to the centre of the church, and after prostrating
himself once more turned towards the people in
front, and to the right and to the left of him,
saying :

" Pardon me, good people, and you also, most
noble boyars ! "

" May God forgive you, your Highness 1 " they
all replied, except two young boyars who were stand-

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 65

ing lost in thought, hidden by a tomb near the door,
where no one paid heed to them.

Lapushneanu left the church, bidding the boyars
come and dine together with him ; he mounted his
horse and returned to the palace.

The people dispersed.

" What do you think of it ? " said one of the
boyars, who, we have seen, did not extend his pardon
to Alexandru Voda.

" I advise you not to dine with him to-day,"
replied the other.

And they mixed with the crowd. They were
Spancioc and Stroici.

At the court great preparations had been made
for this feast. The news had spread that the Prince
had made his peace with the boyars, and the boyars
rejoiced at the change, in the hopes they would once
more occupy positions whence they could amass
fresh wealth at the expense of the sweating peasants.
As to the people, they were indifferent ; they neither
expected good nor feared evil from this reconcilia-
tion. The people were reconciled to the rule of
Alexandru Voda. They only grumbled about his
Minister, Motzoc, who took advantage of his credit
with .the Prince to cheat the mass of the people.
Thus, although the complaints of the community
were continual about the thefts of Motzoc, Lapush-
neanu either would not answer them or would not
listen to them.

As the hour of the feast drew near, the boyars

66 ROUMANIAN STORIES

arrived on horseback, each accompanied by two or
three retainers. They noticed that the courtyard
was full of armed mercenaries and that four guns
were trained upon the doors, but they concluded
they were placed there to fire the usual ceremonial
salute. Perhaps one or two suspected a trap, but
once inside it was impossible to return, for the gates
were guarded and the sentries had orders to let no
one pass out.

Lapushneanu joined the boyars, forty-seven in
number, and placed himself at the head of the table,
placing the Chancellor, Trotushan, upon his right,
and Home Secretary, Motzoc, upon his left. The
pipes began to play, and the viands were placed
upon the table.

In Moldavia at that period there was nothing
remarkable in the fashion of the food. The
banquet only comprised a few varieties of dishes.
After the Polish soup came Greek dishes of boiled
vegetables floating in butter, then Turkish rice and
finally a roast. The table-cloth was of home-spun
linen. The dishes containing the food, the plates
and the goblets, were of silver. Along the wall
stood a row of earthenware jars full of wine from
Odobeshti and from Cotnari, and at the back of
each boyar waited some servant who poured out the
wine.

In the courtyard by the side of two roast oxen
and four roast sheep, three casks of wine had been
broached ; the retainers ate and drank, the boyars

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 67

ate and drank. Soon brains began to get inflamed :
the wine began to do its work. The boyars
saluted, and congratulated the Prince with loud
applause, to which the mercenaries responded with
shouts and the guns with salvos.

They were on the point of rising from the
table when Veveritza raised his glass, and bowing,
said :

" May your Highness live for many years !
May you rule the land in peace and may a merciful
God strengthen the desire you have shown to no
longer molest the boyars or afflict the people "

He did not finish for the dagger of an esquire
struck him right on the forehead and felled him to
the ground.

" Ah, you would insult your Prince ! " cried the
esquire. " Upon them ! "

In a second, all the servants behind the boyars
drew their daggers and struck them ; other soldiers
under the captain of mercenaries entered and
slashed at them with their swords. In the mean-
while Lapushneanu took Motzoc by the hand and
drew him to the open window whence to watch the
butchery which began. He laughed ; but Motzoc,
forcing himself to laugh, felt the hair rising upon
his head, and his teeth chattering. And, in truth,
it was horrible to watch that bloody scene. The
fancy must picture a hall 33 ft. long and 30 ft.
wide, a hundred and more desperate men, deter-
mined to kill, executioners and victims, some

68 ROUMANIAN STORIES

fighting with the fury of despair, others with
drunken rage. The boyars had had no suspicions,
thus treacherously attacked from behind, and un-
armed, they fell unable to defend themselves. The
older men died making the sign of the cross ; but
many of the younger ones defended themselves
with desperation ; chairs, plates, the implements
upon the table became weapons in their hands ;
some of the wounded gripped with fury the throats
of the assassins, and in spite of the injuries they
received they squeezed them till they suffocated.
If one among them found a sword he sold his life
dearly. Many a mercenary perished, but finally
not a boyar remained alive. Forty-seven corpses
lay upon the floor ! In the struggle and turmoil
the table was overturned ; the jars were broken and
the wine mixed with blood made a pool upon the
boards of the hall.

Simultaneously with the murder upstairs began
the massacre in the courtyard.

The boyars' servants, finding themselves set
upon without warning by the soldiers, tried to flee.
Only a few escaped with their lives ; they succeeded
in scaling the walls and gave the alarm in the
boyars' homes : they called out others of the
boyars' retainers and men, and roused the populace.
The whole city flocked to the gates of the courtyard,
which they began to destroy with axes. The
soldiers, stupid with drink, made little resistance.
The crowd grew stronger and stronger.

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 69

Lapushneanu, when he recognized the strength
of the crowd, sent an esquire to inquire what they
wished. The esquire went out.

" Well, Vornic Motzoc," he said, turning
towards that person, " tell me, have I not done well
to rid myself of this rabble, to free the land from
this sore ? "

" Your Highness has acted with great wisdom,"
replied the obsequious courtier ; " I have long had
it in my mind to advise your Highness to do this,
but I see your Highness's sagacity has anticipated
me, and you have done well to destroy ; because —
why — it was "

" I see the esquire tarries," said Lapushneanu,
cutting short Motzoc, who was becoming involved
in his speech. u I think we will give orders to fire
a round into the mob. Ha ! what think you ? "

" Certainly, certainly, let us turn the guns on
them ; there is not much loss in a few hundred
churls dying when so many boyars have perished.
Yes, let us destroy them root and branch."

" I expected just such an answer," said
Lapushneanu with irritation, " but we will see first
what it is they ask."

At that moment the esquire stepped through
the door into the courtyard, and making a sign,
cried :

" Good people ! His Highness sends to
inquire what it is you want and ask, and wherefore
you are come with so much noise ? "

7o ROUMANIAN STORIES

The crowd stood open-mouthed. They had
not expected such a question. They had come
without knowing why, or what they wanted. They
collected quietly into little groups and asked one
another what it was they did want. At last they
began to shout :

" Remit the taxes ! " " Cease to harass us ! "
" Do not kill us 1 " " Do not rob us I " " We
remain poor ! ' "We have no money 1 "
" Motzoc has taken our all ! " " Motzoc !
Motzoc ! " Cl He fleeces us and ruins us ! " " He
advises the Voda!" "Let him die!" "To
death with Motzoc ! " " We want the head of
Motzoc ! "

The last words found an echo in every heart,
and were like an electric spark. All the voices
rang together as one voice, and this voice cried :

" We ask for Motzoc's head ! "

" What do they ask for ? " asked Lapushneanu,
as the esquire entered.

" The head of Vornic Motzoc," replied the
esquire.

" How ? What ? " cried Motzoc, jumping like
a man who has trodden on a serpent. "You did
not hear aright, fool ! You try to jest, but this is
no time for jesting. What words are these 1 What
would they do with my head ? I tell you, you are
deaf, you did not hear well."

"But very well," said Alexandru Voda, "just
listen. Their cries are audible here."

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 71

In fact, as the soldiers no longer resisted them,
the people had begun to clamber up the walls
whence they shouted at the top of their voices :

" Give us Motzoc ! " " We want Motzoc's
head ! "

" Oh, miserable sinner that I am 1 " cried the
wretched man, " most Holy Mother of God, do not
let me be destroyed. What have I done to these
men ? Holy Virgin save me from this danger, and
I swear to build a church to pray for the rest of my
days, I will enshrine with silver the miracle-working
Icon from the Neamtzu Monastery. But gracious
Prince, do not listen to these common people, to
these churls. Command that the guns decimate
them. Let them all die ! I am a great boyar, they
are only churls ! "

" Churls, but many of them," replied Lapush-
neanu coldly : "would it not be a sin to murder
many men for the sake of one ? Only reflect. Go
and sacrifice yourself for the good of the realm, as
you yourself said when you told me that the country
neither wanted me nor loved me. Rejoice that the
people repay you for the service you rendered me,
betraying to me the army of Anton Sechele, then
destroying me, and taking Tomsha's side."

" Oh, unfortunate man that I am ! " cried
Motzoc, tearing his beard, for he realized from the
tyrant's words that there was no escape for him.
" At least let me go and put my house in order !
Have pity upon my wife and children ! Give me

72 ROUMANIAN STORIES

time to confess ! " And he cried and screamed and
groaned.

" Enough ! " cried Lapushneanu. " Do not
wail like a woman. Be a brave Roumanian. What
can you confess ? What can you say to the priest ?
That you are a thief and robber ? All Moldavia
knows that. Come ! Take him and give him to
the people and tell them that this is the way Alex-
andru Voda serves those who rob the country."

The esquire and the captain of mercenaries
immediately laid hands upon him.

The wretched boyar yelled as loudly as possible,
trying to protect himself, but how could his old
hands shield him from the four strong arms that
carried him ? He tried to stand upon his feet, but
they caught in the dead bodies of the victims and
slipped upon the blood which had congealed upon
the boards. As last his strength became exhausted,
and the tyrant's satellites carried him more dead
than alive to the door of the courtyard, and thrust
him out among the crowd.

The miserable boyar fell into the arms of the
many-headed Hydra, which in a second tore him to
pieces.

" See how Alexandru Voda rewards those who
rob the land ! " said the tyrant's emissaries.

" Long live His Highness the Voda ! " replied
the crowd. And they dispersed, rejoicing over their
victim.

While the unhappy Motzoc was being thus

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 73

treated, Lapushneanu ordered that the table should
be replaced, and the utensils collected ; the heads of
the murdered were then cut off, and the bodies
thrown out of the window. After which, he took
the heads and quietly and methodically set them in
the middle of the table ; he placed the less important
boyars below, and the more important above, accord-
ing to their family and rank, until he had made a
pyramid of forty- seven heads, the top of which he
crowned with the head of an important Logofat.
Then after washing ihis hands, he went to a side
door, withdrew the bolt and wooden bar which
secured it, and entered the Princess's apartment.

From the beginning of this tragedy, the Princess
Rucsanda, ignorant of what was taking place, had
been anxious. She did not understand the cause of
the noise she heard, for, according to the custom of
the time, women could not leave their apartment,
and the servants could not risk going amongst
soldiers of whose discipline they knew nothing.
One among them, bolder than the others, had gone
out, had heard it said that an attack had been made
upon the Voda, and had carried these tidings to her
mistress.

The gentle Princess was terrified, fearing the
fury of the mob, and when Alexandru entered he
found her praying before the Icon, with her children
by her side.

"Ah," she cried, "our Lady be praised that I
see you again ! I have been greatly frightened."

74 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Wherefore ? Because I promised I would
prepare you a remedy for fear ? Come with me,
Madam."

" But those cries, those shouts we heard ? "

" Nothing. The servants began to wrangle, but
they are quiet now."

So saying he took Rucsanda by the hand, and
led her to the dining-hall. She gave a cry of horror
at the terrible sight and fainted.

" A woman is always a woman," said Lapush-
neanu, smiling, "instead of rejoicing, she is hor-
rified."

He lifted her in his arms, and took her back to
her apartment. Then he returned again to the hall
where he found the captain of mercenaries and the
esquire awaiting him.

" You can throw these corpses over the wall to
the dogs, but set their heads upon the wall," he
said to the mercenary. "And you," he said,
addressing the esquire, " are to lay hands upon
Spancioc and Stroici."

But Stroici and Spancioc were already close to
the Dniester.

Their pursuers only caught up with them when
they had crossed the frontier.

" Tell him who sent you," Spancioc shouted
back, "that he will not see us till he is about
to die ! "

• * • • •

Four years passed since this scene, during which

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 75

time Alexandra Lapushneanu, faithful to the promise
made to the Princess Rucsanda, did not execute a
single boyar. But, because he was unable to stifle
his overmastering desire to witness human suffering,
he invented various forms of torture.

He had eyes put out, noses cut off, he muti-
lated and maimed any person he suspected ; even
his suspicions were imaginary, for no one ventured
to make the slightest complaint. All the same he
was not at ease, for he could not lay hands on
Spancioc and Stroici, who remained at Kamenitza,
waiting, abiding their time. Although he had two
highly-placed sons-in-law with great influence at the
Polish court, he was anxious lest these two boyars
should solicit the aid of the Poles, who were only
seeking a pretext to invade Moldavia ; but these
two Roumanians were too good patriots not to
reflect that war and the arrival of foreign soldiers
would be the ruin of their native land.

Lapushneanu wrote to them many times in
succession that if they would only return he would
pledge himself, by the most sacred oath, to do them
no harm ; but they knew the value of his oath.
In order to observe them more closely, he moved
to the town of Hotin which he fortified with care,
but he became ill from spleen here. The disease
made rapid strides, and the tyrant soon saw himself
at the portal of the tomb.

In the delirium of his fever he seemed to see all
the victims of his cruelty, terrifying and admonitory,

76 ROUMANIAN STORIES

threatening him and calling to the most just God
for justice. In vain he tossed upon his bed of
sickness, he could not find relief.

Summoning Teofan, the Metropolitan, the
Bishops and boyars, he informed them that he felt
the end of his life to be approaching ; he humbled
himself, and implored pardon for all the wrong he
had done. Finally, he begged for consideration for
his son, Bogdan, to whom he left the throne of the
realm if they would assist him. Being of tender
years, and surrounded by powerful enemies, he
would be unable to protect either himself or his
country unless the boyars preserved unity among
themselves and affection and loyalty to the
Ruler.

" As for myself," he proceeded to say, " if I
recover from this sickness, I am determined to
become a monk in the Monastery of Slatina, where
I may repent for the rest of the days that it pleases
God to leave me. Therefore, I beseech you,
Fathers, when you see me at the point of death to
shave me like a monk "

He was not able to say much more. He was
seized with convulsions, and a terrible coma like
death itself stiffened his body, so that the Metro-
politan and the Bishops, believing him to be expiring,
canonized him, bestowing upon him the name of
Paisie after that of Peter, which name he had borne
previous to becoming Prince. After this they paid
homage to the Princess Rucsanda as regent during

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 77

the minority of her son, and proclaimed Bogdan
king.

Immediately after they sent envoys to all the
boyars within the country and to the exiles, and to
the captains of the army.

The twilight was approaching when Stroici and
Spancioc arrived.

Dismounting at an inn, they approached the
castle with haste. The town was silent and dreary
like some gigantic tomb. Only the murmuring
waters of the Dniester were audible as they con-
tinually washed the slopes of the grey bare banks,
and the monotonous cry of the sentries who
examined each other by the evening light along the
length of their lances. Pursuing their way into the
palace, they experienced no small surprise at meeting
no one ; at last a lacquey showed them the sick
man's room. As they were about to enter they
heard a loud noise, and paused to listen.

Lapushneanu was rousing from his lethargy.
Upon opening his eyes he saw two monks standing,
the one at his head, and the other at his feet,
motionless, like two statues of bronze ; he glanced
at himself, and found himself clothed in the habit
of a monk ; round his head was a cowl. He tried
to raise his hand, but was prevented by the strings
of a rosary. It seemed to him as though he
dreamed, and he closed his eyes again ; but opening
them once more after a little while he saw the same
things, the rosary, the cowl, the monks.

78 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" How are you feeling now, Brother Paisie ? "
one of the monks asked him, seeing that he was not
sleeping.

This name brought back to his mind all that
had taken place. His blood began to boil and half
raising himself he cried :

" What are these ? Ah, you are making fun
of me ! Avaunt, foul creatures ! Go, or I will
murder you all ! "

He sought a weapon with his hand, but finding
nothing but the cowl he flung it with his hand at
the head of one of the monks.

At the sound of his shouting, the Princess, with
her son, the Metropolitan, the boyars and servants,
all entered the room.

Meanwhile the other two boyars arrived and
stood by the door listening.

"Ah, you wanted to turn me into a monk,"
cried Lapushneanu in a raucous and terrible voice.
" You thought to get rid of me ? But you can
dismiss that idea ! God or the devil will make me
well again, and "

" Unhappy man, do not blaspheme," said the
Metropolitan, cutting him short " Do not forget
you are in the hour of death ! Reflect, sinful man,
that you are a monk, you are no longer Ruler !
Reflect that such ravings and yells are frightening
this innocent woman, and this child in whom rests
the hope of Moldavia."

" Infernal hypocrite ! " added the sick man,

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 79

endeavouring to rise from his bed. " Hold your
tongue ; it was I who made you Metropolitan, and
I unfrock you. You tried to make me a priest but
I will put that right. There are many I will make
into priests. But as for that bitch, I will cut her
into four pieces with her pup so that they may never
again listen to the advice of hypocrites or to my
enemies. He lies who says I am a monk. I am
no monk — I am Ruler. I am Alexandru Voda !
Help ! Help ! Where are my soldiers ? Fetch
them ! Fetch them all ! I will command them.
Kill all these people. Let none escape. Ah ! I
am choking ! Water ! Water ! Water ! " And
he fell back exhausted, gasping with excitement and
fury.

The Princess and the Metropolitan retired. At
the door they came face to face with Stroici and
Spancioc.

" Madam," said Spancioc, seizing Rucsanda's
hand, "that man must die at all costs. See this
powder, pour it into his drink."

" Poison," she cried with a shudder.

" Poison ! " pursued Spancioc. " Unless this
man dies at once, the lives of your Highness and
your son are in danger. The father has lived long
enough and done enough. Let the father die that
the son may live."

A servant came out of the room.

" What is it ? " asked the Princess.

" The sick man has roused and asks for water

8o ROUMANIAN STORIES

and his son. He bade me not to return without
him."

" Oh, they wish to kill him," groaned the
wretched mother, pressing her son passionately to
her breast.

" There is not time for hesitation, Madam,"
added Spancioc. " Think of the wife of Voda
Shtefanitza and choose between father and son."

" What say you, Father ? " said the poor woman,
turning towards the Metropolitan, with her eyes
full of tears.

" This man is cruel and fierce, my daughter ;
may the Lord God give you counsel. As for me,
I go to prepare for our departure with our new
Ruler ; for our late Prince, may God pardon him,
and also forgive you."

With these words the holy Teofan departed.

Rucsanda took a silver cup full of water, which
was handed to her by the servant, and then, amid
the entreaties and arguments of the boyars, poured
the poison into it. The boyars pushed her into the
sick man's room.

" What is he doing ? " asked Spancioc of Stroici,
who pushed open the door again and looked in.

" He asks for his son — he says he wishes him to
come to him — he asks for a drink — the Princess
trembles — she gives him the cup — he will not take
it!"

Spancioc starts and draws his dagger from his
i i b&

belt.

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 81

" But yes, he takes it, he drinks. May it do
your Highness good ! "

Rucsanda emerged shaking and lividj and sup-
porting herself against the wall.

" You must render account before God," she
said, sighing, " for you have caused me to commit
this sin."

The Metropolitan arrived.

" Let us go," he said to the Princess.

" But who will tend to this wretched man ? "

" We will," replied the boyars.

" Oh, Father, what have you made me do ! "
said the Princess to the Metropolitan, and she went
sobbing with him.

The two boyars went into the sick man. The
poison had not yet begun to do its work. Lapush-
neanu lay stretched out, his face uppermost, calm
but very weak. When the two boyars entered, he
looked at them for some time, but not recognizing
them he asked who they were, and what they had
to say.

" I am Stroici," replied one.

" And I am Spancioc," added the other, " and
our wish is to see you before you die as we promised
you."

" Oh, my enemies ! " sighed Alexandru.

" I am Spancioc," continued that person,
" Spancioc whom you would fain have beheaded
when you murdered the forty-seven boyars, and
who escaped from your clutches ! Spancioc, whose

82 ROUMANIAN STORIES

property you have destroyed leaving his wife and
children to beg for alms at the doors of Christian
houses."

" Ah, I feel as though a fire burnt me ! " cried
the sick man, grasping his stomach with both hands.

" To-day we free ourselves, for you must die.
The poison works.'*

" Oh, you have poisoned me, infamous creatures !
Oh, what a fire ! Where is the Princess ? Where
is my son ? "

" They have gone away and left you to us.'*

" They have gone away and left me ! Have left
me to you ! Oh, kill me and let me escape from
suffering. Oh, stab me, you are still young, have
pity, free me from the agony that rends me, stab
me 1 " he said, and turned towards Stroici.

" I will not desecrate my noble dagger with the
blood of such a worthless tyrant as you.*'

The pains increased. The poisoned man writhed
in convulsions.

" Oh," he cried, " my very soul burns me !
Oh, give me water — give me something to drink.*'

" Look," said Spancioc, taking the silver cup
from the table, "the dregs of the poison are left.
Drink and quench your thirst ! "

u Nay, nay, I will not," said the sick man,
setting his teeth.

Then Stroici seized him and held him tight while
Spancioc, drawing a knife from its sheath, unclenched
his teeth with its point and poured down his throat

ALEXANDRU LAPUSHNEANU 83

the poison which had remained at the bottom of the
cup.

Lapushneanu, roaring like a bull which sees the
hand and axe which is about to strike him, tried to
turn his face towards the wall.

" What, you do not want to see us ? " said the
boyars. " No, but it is meet that you should see
in us your punishment ; learn to die, you who have
only known how to kill." And seizing him both
together, they held him inflexibly, staring at him
with devilish delight and reviling him.

The unhappy Prince writhed in spasms of agony,
he foamed at the mouth, he gnashed his teeth, and
his bloodshot eyes protruded out of his head ; an
icy sweat, sad forerunner of death, broke out in
drops upon his brow. After a torture of half an
hour, he finally yielded up the ghost in the hands of
his judges.

Such was the end of Alexandru Lapushneanu,

who leaves a bloody page in the history of Moldavia.

A portrait of hknself and his family may be seen

to this day in the Monastery at Slatina, which he

built, and where he is buried.

ZIDRA

BY M. BEZA

XTTTE were talking in the inn at iGrabova and

\ \/ passing round the wine without troubling

* * " ourselves as to the lateness of the hour.

In time we began to sing — as it is the custom to

sing in these parts. One raises his voice, while the

others subdue theirs, till all take up the chorus :

Your head lies in my pouch,
Zidra, mighty Zidra !

Only our friend, Mitu Dola, was silent ; he was
much moved and kept turning first to one side and
then to the other.

" Oh, that song ! " he gasped when we stopped.
Then suddenly to me : " Do you know who Zidra
was ? And do you know who killed Zidra ? "

He took up his mug, drank from it several
times, and then, with a brain clouded by distant
memories and the strong wine, he began to tell me
the story :

" It must be some thirty years ago. Zidra was

85 '

86 ROUMANIAN STORIES

then a haiduk in the Smolcu mountains. What a
man ! There was a heavy price upon his head.
His very name, passed from mouth to mouth,
brought a wave of fear. And we children would
gather together in the evening under the eaves of
the fountains, by the church doors, and talk of
Zidra. This much we knew : at one time he had lived
amongst us and then had unexpectedly disappeared
from the village ; on account of some murder every-
body said. After a long time he appeared again,
robbing a long way this side of Smolcu : * Zidra is
at Seven-Hills ; Zidra is in the Vigla Forest.'

" Whispering thus secretly, we would glance over
our shoulders. We would shiver as though we
could feel a cold breath from the dark thicket
whence Zidra might appear. I pictured him just
like my father, probably because my father, too,
was a striking figure. In a coat with long flowing
sleeves, his cap on one side, and his belt loaded with
pistols, my father — like all tax-gatherers at that
period — was on the road a great deal of his time,
so that my mother and I remained alone for weeks
on end.

" We had a house just on the outskirts of the
village surrounded by a beech wood, the shadows
of which hung darkly above our heads. How it
would begin to moan at night ! The rustling of
the leaves, the prolonged roar of the rocking trees
was like some great waterfall. From our soft bed,
clasped in my mother's arms, I listened to the fierce

ZIDRA 87

din. From time to time it ceased ; then, through
the silence, came the sound of whistling, of shots,
of the trampling of horses and of men.

" I sighed with terror. * Mother, supposing
robbers should attack us.' * Hush 1 It is unlucky
to speak of such things.' c You know, mother,
Zidra is in Vigla Forest.' When I first mentioned
this name my mother trembled and started back, but
quickly coming forward she said hastily and with
unusual anxiety : ' Who told you this ? ' * Cousin
Gushu, mother. Gushu's father, mother, saw a
host of vultures over Vigla Forest circling round.'

" My mother repeated in a puzzled "way :

* Vultures circling round ' Then, after thinking

a moment, she said to herself : l That is it ; that is
where he halted and had his food — the vultures are
attracted by the smell.'

" My father, arriving a few days later, said the
same thing, while he added that some shepherds had
also seen Zidra. My mother was delicate, her
features bore the melancholy expression of some
hidden sorrow. She looked wan and remained
staring into space. * Eh ? What ? ' said my father
sternly. * Why should I be afraid of Zidra ? '

"He closed the conversation. But into our
house there crept an unexplained disquietude — some-
thing intangible, blowing like an icy breath that
made my mother shudder. How could I under-
stand then ? Time alone has given me the
explanation of it all. And to-day when I think

88 ROUMANIAN STORIES

of the spot where this dark mystery unfolded
itself old scenes and things emerge from oblivion
and stand vividly before me. I see the yard of
our house with the door opening into the wood,
the staircase leading into the bedroom ; here is the
hearth and along the walls are the great wooden
cupboards. Sitting upon the corner-seat by the fire
my mother spun at her wheel — often she would
start to spin but seemed as though she could not.
She would constantly stop, her thoughts were else-
where. And if I asked her anything, she would nod
her head without listening to me. Only when,
amid the loud rustle of the trees, I would mention
Zidra she would turn quickly, her eyes wide open,
and say with a shiver : c Zidra ? ' * Yes, mother.'

" And when night fell she would try the doors
one after the other. She would walk up and down,
a pine-torch in her hand, passing through visions
of horror, and with her went the smoking flame
which rose and fell as it struggled with the shadows,
moving upon the ceilings and floors and on the
walls of the room where the sofa was, where it lit up
for a second the hanging weapons : an old musket,
two scimitars, some pistols.

" Sometimes there was a pleasant silence over
everything. The wood slept, the country, too, was
asleep. Then, in the light of the little icon-lamp,
could be heard the gentle hum of the spinning-
wheel, murmuring like a golden beetle in a fairy-
tale, lulling me till I slept.

ZIDRA 89

" During one of these nights — the wheel
stopped and I heard my mother saying : t Tuesday
at Custur, Wednesday at Lehova, Thursday —

Thursday ' She knew where my father usually

stayed and was calculating.

" Becoming confused she began again from the
beginning : * Tuesday at Custur, Wednesday at
Lehova, Thursday — Thursday on the road.' And
she rose. She went to the lamp to pour in oil that
it might burn till the daylight. In the meantime a
noise came; from the yard and was repeated more
loudly. * Mother, some one is knocking ! ' c Who
could be knocking ? ' she murmured.

" After a moment of indecision she went down-
stairs. Unintelligible words followed — a man's
voice, the door was shaken. My mother began to
speak gently, inaudibly. Soon everything was
silent again. By my side I could hear my mother's
breath, coming short and with difficulty, but her
tongue remained tied. When she recovered her-
self she said suddenly : * Can 1 ? How can I open ?
I am married. I cannot.' * To whom, mother — to
whom must you open ? ' She took me tremblingly
in her arms, squeezed me to her, and pressed her
burning cheek against mine. * You are too little.
You do not understand, my treasure ! '

" And, after a while, talking more to herself,
while the tears flowed slowly down her cheeks :
* At the fountain in Plaiu — it is long ago. We
pledged our word — at dusk — God saw us ; and in

90 ROUMANIAN STORIES

the end he made off one day, and I waited for him
— years and years I waited. Now what does he
want ? I am married. What does he expect ?
Why did he come ? '

"Thus much I remember. I fell asleep close
to my mother. The next day she might just have
got up after a long illness so white was she in the
face, with fear shining in her eyes. When my
father saw her he raised the thick bushy eyebrows
which gave such a harsh appearance to his hairy face.

* There is something wrong, something has happened.'

" Could she deny it ? They went into the
room where the sofa stood, and soon after my
father broke out with : * From henceforth either I
or he 1 ' And he stormed about, taking long heavy
strides while the weapons clattered on the wall.
He swore, and added with a wild burst of laughter :

* Ha, ha ! And the head and two hundred ducats 1 '

" From now on he no longer took the road ; he
remained on guard. Spies began to move about.
Fierce-looking men knocked at the door. My
father went out, exchanged some rapid words with
them, among which could be continually heard the
name of Zidra, and they disappeared. But what
were those cries, those sharp whistles through the
night ? Often, too, across the hillocks came the
sound of stones — stones striking one against
the other, and my father replied in the same way.
And the knocking sounds rose sonorous, ringing
through the darkness as though some strange birds

Z1DRA 91

were rattling their beaks. I heard it in my sleep
and shuddered. 'Have no fear,' whispered my
mother, * it is nothing, my dear one. Your father
is talking — with some sentries.'

" A few weeks passed thus, until one midnight
there appeared in the further room four men in
black cloaks, carrying guns ; they seemed to have
sprung out of the ground. They shook hands and
without a moment's pause began moving about in
the ruddy, uncertain light of the pine-torch. In
the silence outside — a silence caused by the fog
which deadened all sound — their words could be
overheard. As my father slung his scimitar over
his shoulder, one of them said in a loud clear voice :
* At Stic6tur, in the monastery.' { Since when ? '
c Since dinner-time to-day — he is eating and drink-
ing.' * The man is caught,' said another. ' He
can't escape this time.'

" They went out quickly ; they were lost in the
black darkness which began to vibrate with the rising
of the wind. The bushes rattled and bent beneath the
rain — storms of rain beat and splashed against the
window-panes, a sea of sound, storm after storm."

Here, as far as I can remember, Mitu Dola
brought the story to a close. I asked :

" How did it end ? "

" Didn't you hear the song ? My father took
the head and put it in his pouch. As he said,
c and the head and two hundred ducats.' "

CARD ANA

BY M. BEZA

MITU TEGA returned to the house much
annoyed. As he entered his wife asked
him:

" Well, has he not turned up yet ? "

" No, not to-day either/'

a This is what happens when you rely on an
unknown man, a stranger. Suppose he never
comes. God forbid that he should go off with the
whole herd ! "

Tega did not reply. He sat motionless in the
silent veranda, which gradually grew dark with
shadows of the evening mist, and pondered. Of
course such things did happen ; he might have
taken the goats and gone off, in which case let him
find him who can ! Where could one look for
him ? Whither could one follow him ?

And as he meditated thus he seemed to see the
shepherd before his eyes ; he called to mind the
first day he had seen him ; a terrible man, like a
wild man from the woods, with a great moustache

93

94 ROUMANIAN STORIES

lost in a hard, black beard, which left only his eyes
and cheek-bones visible. He came into him, and
without looking him in the face, said :

" I have heard — some people told me that you
want a man to tend the bucks. Take me, I am a
shepherd."

Tega gave him one look, he was just the kind
of man he wanted. He asked him :
" Where do you come from ? "
" I come — well, from Blatza. Toli — Toli the
shepherd — I have been with many other goat
owners."

Tega looked at him again, considered a little,
and said :

" Good, I'll take you ; may you prove honest,
for, look, many a man has cheated me, and many a
man has stolen from me up to now."

And so he engaged him. Toli stayed with
Tega, and no one could have conducted himself
better.

A month later they went together to the Salonica
district, where they bought goats, over eight hun-
dred head. When it was time to return, Tega — for
fear of attack by brigands — went ahead secretly,
leaving Toli to follow on alone with the herd. The
days slipped by — one week, two — Toli did not put
in an appearance. What could have happened ?
Many ideas passed through Tega's brain. Especi-
ally after what his wife had said. At night he could
not sleep. He dozed for a while, and then woke

GARDANA 95

again, with his mind on the shepherd, tormenting
himself, until the crowing of the cocks heralded the
dawn. Then he got up ; and, as he was short and
plump, he took a staff in his hand, and proceeded to
the nearest hill whence could be seen the country
opening out as flat as the palm of a hand.

At that hour the first blush of dawn glowed in
the east. And slowly, slowly rose the sun. Round,
purple, fiery, it lit first the crests of the mountains,
then flashed its rays into the heart of the valleys ;
the window-panes in the village suddenly caught the
fiery light ; the birds began to fly ; on the ground,
among the glistening dew, flowers raised their heads
out of the fresh grass, a wealth of daisies and butter-
cups like little goblets of gold. But Mitu Tega
had no time for such things. His eyes were search-
ing the landscape. Something was moving yonder
— a cloud of dust.

" The herd, it is the herd ! " murmured Tega.

He could hear the light, soft tinkle of the bells,
sounding melodiously in the spring morning. And
see, see — the herd drew near, the bell-carrier in
front, two dogs with them, and last of all the shep-
herd with his cloak round his shoulder.

" Welcome," cried Tega with all his heart.
" But, Toli, you have tarried a long while. I was
beginning to wonder "

" What would you, I did not come direct, I had
to go round."

The bucks played around, a fine, picked lot with

96 ROUMANIAN STORIES

silky hair, they roamed about, and Tega felt as
though he, too, could skip about, could take the
shepherd in his arms, and embrace him for sheer joy.

As in other years, Tega kept the herd on the
neighbouring slopes, on the Aitosh hills. It was
Toli's business to get the bread, salt, and all that
was needed, and once every two or three days,
leaving the herd in the care of a comrade, he would
take his way to his employer's house. Usually
Tega's wife would be spinning at her wheel when
he went in.

« Good day ! "

" Welcome, Toli," the woman said pleasantly.
" Tega is not at home at present, but sit down,
Toli, sit down, and wait till he comes."

The shepherd took off his cloak, and did not say
another word.

The veranda where they were sitting was upstairs ;
through the open windows the eye could follow the
distant view ; the hills lay slumbering in the after-
noon light, along their foot lay a road — processions
of laden mules, whole caravans ascending slowly
and laboriously, winding along in bluish lines till
lost to sight over the brow of the hill. The woman
followed them with her eyes, and without moving
from her wheel, pointing with her hand, she said :

"There are sheepfolds yonder, too, aren't
there?"

The shepherd nodded his head.

" I never asked you, Toli, how are the goats

GARDANA 97

doing ? Do you think my man chose well this
year?"

" Well, very well."

That was all. He said no more. His deep- set
eyes were sad, and black as the night. A minute
later footsteps sounded in the garden, and then the
voice of a neighbour :

" Where are you, dear, where have you hidden
yourself? "

"Here, Lena, here," replied the woman up-
stairs.

Lena mounted the stairs. Behind her came
Doda Sili and Mia ; they had all brought their
work, for they would not go away till late in the
evening.

" Have you heard ? " asked Lena.

"What?"

" Two more murders."

Suspicion had fallen upon Gardana. He had
become a kind of vampire about whom many tales
were told. Especially old men, if they could
engage you in conversation, would try and impress
you with the story.

In a village lived a maiden, modest and very
beautiful. She was small, of the same age as
Gardana, who was a boy then. They were fond of
each other, they played together, they kissed each
other — they kissed as children kiss. But after a
while the girl's form took on the soft curves of
coming womanhood ; then it came to pass that they

H

98 ROUMANIAN STORIES

never kissed each other, they knew not why, and
when they were alone they did not venture to look
into each other's eyes ; she would blush like a ripe
apple, and Gardana's lips would tremble. Then
there appeared upon the scene, from somewhere, a
certain Dina, son of a rich somebody ; the girl
pleased him, and he sent her an offer of marriage.
Her father did not think twice, her father gave her
to him.

And Gardana — would you believe it — after he
realized that it was hard fact, gnashed his teeth,
beat his breast, and disappeared. Two days later
he was on the mountains, and a gang with him.

Eh ! love knows no bounds, love builds, but
love also destroys many homes.

The girl's father was seized and murdered ; not
long after Dina was murdered too. Then Gardana
spread terror for many years in succession.

For some time now, whatever he might have
been doing, wherever he might be in hiding, nothing
had been heard of him. But as soon as something
happened, his name once again passed round the
village : " Gardana, it is GarHana 1 "

Perhaps it was not he, perhaps he had left the
mountains, perhaps even he was dead ; but the
people who knew something

" How many did you say there were ? " asked
Mia.

" Two ; both merchants. They came from
abroad."

GARDANA 99

" And who can have murdered them ? "

"No one but — Gardana."

" How is it ? But is Gardana still alive ? "

" Come, do you think he really is dead ? No,
no, they alone give this kind of tidings of them-
selves."

" And why ? "

" They have to be on their guard, the bailiffs
are after them, they might capture them."

"Perhaps "

The spinning-wheel spun on. The spool
wound the thread, the treadle hummed, filling the
room with a soothing noise.

Doda Sili said wonderingly :

" Who knows what kind of man he is ? "

" Gardana ? "

" Gardana."

"Not a very big man, but large enough to
terrify one, with a black beard — oh, so black ! — and,
when you least expect it, there he is on your road,
just as though he had sprung out of the ground.
Didn't our Toli once meet him 1 "

" How was that ? "

The spinning-wheel stopped suddenly. A
swarm of gnats came in through the windows, and
buzzed round in the warmth of the sun ; and Lena
said quietly :

" It was on his way from the sheepfold ; he
came upon Gardana on the Padea-Murgu."

" Oh, it might have been somebody else."

ioo ROUMANIAN STORIES

" It was he, he himself, with that beard, those
garments "

And so the conversation continued. Toli, the
shepherd, took no part in the talk. He sat over
on the floor, silent, impassive — like a moss-grown
stone. Only occasionally he raised his bushy eye-
brows, and a troubled, misty look shone in his eyes.
Tega's wife wondered to herself, she could not
understand him ; really, what was the matter with
him ? He was brave, she knew he had not his
equal for courage, when he had charge of the herd
not an animal was ever lost ; all the same, what a
man he was, always frowning, and never a smile on
his lips ! There mus£ be something with him,

naturally it must be And breaking off her

train of thought she suddenly spoke to him.

"Toli, during all '-the months you have been
with us I have never asked you whether you are
married ? "

The question was unexpected. The shepherd
seemed to be considering. Then he answered :

"No."

" What ? You have never married ? Have
you no wife, no home ? "

" Home — ah ! " he sighed. " You are right,
even I once had a home, even I had hopes of a
bride, but they came to nought — what would you,
it was not written in the book of destiny — I was
poor."

He spoke haltingly, and his eyes wandered here

CARD AN A 1 01

and there. And after one motion of his hand, as
though to say (t I have much sorrow in my heart,"
he added :

" That girl is dead — and I, too, shall die, every-
thing will die."

One afternoon in March, as the shepherd did
not appear, Mitu Tega prepared to go alone to the
fold. He brought out the horse, bought two bags
of bread, and a lamb freshly killed, went to the mill
where he procured some barley, and then on slowly,
quietly — he on foot, the horse in front — till he
reached his destination just as the sun was dis-
appearing behind the Aitosh mountains.

The shepherds rubbed their eyes when they saw
him, but he called out :

" I have brought a lamb for roasting."

" You must eat it with us," said Toli, " and
stay the night here."

" No, for they expect me at home."

" Will you start back at this hour ? " put in
Panu, Toli's comrade. "The night brings many
perils."

It was getting quite dark. Stars twinkled.
Whether he wished to or not, Mitu Tega was
obliged to remain. Then the shepherds set to
work ; one put the lamb on to the spit, and lit
the fire ; the other fetched boughs from the wood.
He brought whole branches with which they pre-
pared a shelter for the night for Tega — within was a

102 ROUMANIAN STORIES

bed of green bracken. Then all three stretched
themselves by the fire. Gradually the flames sank
a little, on the heap of live coals the lamb began to
brown, and spit with fat, and send out an appetizing
smell. The moon shone through the bushes ; they
seemed to move beneath the hard, cold light which
flooded the solitude. The shadows of the mountains
stretched away indefinitely. Above, some night birds
crossed unseen, flapping their wings. Mitu Tega
turned his head. For a moment his glance was
arrested : by Toli's side, a gun and a long scimitar
lay shining on the ground. He was not nervous,
otherwise He glanced at Toli.

" What a man 1 " thought Tega. " I have
nothing to fear while I am with him."

They began to eat, quickly and hungrily, tearing
the meat with their fingers, not speaking a word.
Toli picked up the shoulder-bone of the lamb, and
drew near the fire, to scrutinize it, for some omen
for the future.

" What's the matter ? " Tega asked.

" Nothing — only it seems to me — that there is
blood everywhere, that blood pursues. Look, and
you, too, Panu."

" There is," murmured Panu, " a little blood,
one can see a spot, two red patches."

The hours passed. The dogs started off towards
the woods. From their bark there might be
dangerous men on the move. Toli listened a
moment, took his gun, and said quickly to Tega :

GARDANA 103

" Have you any weapon about you ? "

" I have — a pistol."

" Take it out, and go in there, and do not move.
But you, Panu, get more over there — not near the
fire, move into the shadow."

He had scarcely finished speaking before the
brigands were upon them. They came stealthily
through the bushes, avoiding the moonlight, but
the shepherd saw them, and without waiting fired a
chance shot.

" Don't shoot, don't shoot ! " cried the robbers.

A great noise arose — the flock scattered, the
barking of the dogs became gradually more and
more excited ; there was another report, and yet
another. Toli's gun gave a dull sound and was
followed by several cries :

"You will kill us all like this, all "

" Down with your arms, lay down your arms ! "
cried Toli.

"Look, man, we are putting them down ; only
don't shoot."

" Drop them ! "

Toli's voice thundered. His voice alone was
enough to make one tremble.

The brigands threw down their arms, and
advanced. There were three of them. One was
quite a young man, about thirty-five years of age,
with a worn face, and very pale. Blood was flowing
from one foot and clotting on to his white gaiters
as it flowed. Toli went up to him and said :

104 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" I have wounded you — have I wounded you ? "

The brigand did not reply. Toli crossed his
arms and shaking his head asked :

" Was it me you meant to rob ? Was it me
you meant to attack ? Do you know who I am ? "

They looked into each other's eyes, they stared
at each other — deep into each other's eyes they
gazed. Each one was thinking : " Where have 1
seen him before ? " for they had surely known each
other somewhere. Vague memories of their past
life, of bygone years began to stir, and gradually,
recollection dawned.

" Gardana," said the brigand, " is it you ? "

Mitu Tega was startled. He shivered as though
iced water were being poured down his back. Who
had uttered that name ? Where was Gardana ?
He was thunder-struck by what followed : Toli
and the robbers shook hands, embraced each other
and conversed with each other.

" Gardana, Gardana, I thought you were dead —
they told me you had died, Gardana ! "

"No, brother," said Toli. "It might have
been better if I had died."

Then after, a short pause :

" But you are in pain, brother ; I have hurt
you — look, you were within an ace of being killed,
brother Manole, and I should have had another
man's soul, and another man's blood upon my head.
There, you were nearly killed. What brought you,
what drew you within range of my gun ? Within

GARDANA 105

an ace, brother Manole — another man's soul, another
man's blood "

For the first time for many years he seemed
moved with self-pity. He tore a strip from his
shirt, bent over Manole, and dressed his wound.
The others watched, amazed. The waters were
sleeping, the forests were sleeping. From the trees,
from the valleys, from the grass, came voices
murmuring in the silence of the night, soft,
remote, a sort of breath, more like a sigh from
the sleeping earth. Manole spoke :

" Do you remember, Gardana ? We were on
the Baitan mountains, you know — at Piatra-de-Furca
— we were together when the bailiffs hemmed us in
on all sides — a host of them. We held our own
till nightfall. Eh ! and then I saw what stuff
Gardana was made of ! You gave us one call and
went straight ahead — we after you, and so we escaped,
we cut our way through with our scimitars. Then,
when the trumpets gave the alarm, and the guns
began to go off, I lost sight of you, Gardana ; we
were all scattered, I remained alone in the valley
under Piatra-de-Furca. Do you remember ? It
must be five years, more — six years ago. Where
are all our comrades now ? "

" Our comrades — they have gone away, I let
them go. Brother Manole, heavy curses lie on my
head — enough to crush me, brother. I was not a
bad man. You know how many times I went to
Dina. I said : * Don't drive me too far, bethink

io6 ROUMANIAN STORIES

yourself.' And I went to the girl's father. But
you see Dina was rich, Dina had flocks of sheep.
And her father gave her to him without asking
whether the girl loved him. And after that, tell
me, brother, could I sit patiently by, bite my nails
and say nothing ? Could I ? "

Toli Gardana ceased speaking. After a moment
of reflection he added softly :

" But the girl faded away — she died of grief and
disappointment. One day the earth will cover me
too, our bodies may rot anywhere, and no one will
weep — not a tear, they will all rejoice. I don't
know, brother, but since that girl died it seems to
me I am not the man I was. I wanted to kill
myself, I roamed about here, and one day I went to
Tega. 1 was strong — I gave out that I came from
Blatza, and that I was a shepherd ; who was he that
he should know differently ! But you, brother,
how has the world treated you_? "

" Harshly, Gardana. I was shut up in Tricol
for three years. Prison cut me off from life. For
months I dug — with hands and nails I dug — until
one night, during a storm, I broke through the wall
and escaped with these two companions. And when
I found myself back among these mountains my
thoughts turned to you. I had heard you were
dead, Gardana ; but see what has happened, and
how it has come to pass, how fate brings these things
about, brother Gardana ... it is not a month since
I escaped. ..."

GARDANA 107

Before they were aware of it the shadows of the
night began to melt away. The brigands ceased to
speak as though they feared the signs of the coming
day. They remained silent, their heads upon the
ground in the face of the glory of the flaming dawn.

Toli Gardana asked :

" Where are you going now ? "

" How should we know ? No matter where.
There are many forests."

THE DEAD POOL

BY M. BEZA

WE seemed to be between Mount Gramos
and Mount Deniscu. I guessed it to
be so from the peaks, which showed like
some fancies of the night, keeping steadfast watch in
the moonlight ; the moon we could not see, we
could only feel her floating over us. The pale
light shone only in the ether above, and gradually
diminished till it was lost to the eyes in a mass of
shadows ; they fell like curtains, enveloping us,
dense, black. The silence extended indefinitely ;
it was as though the world here had remained un-
changed since its creation. Hardly a breath of
wind reached us. It always carried with it at this
spot the same odour of dank weeds, of plants with
poisonous juices ; everything told of the neighbour-
hood of water — not fresh water, but water asleep for
centuries.

" Can you see the pool ? " questioned my com-
panion, Ghicu Sina ; and then he added : " It is
hidden, certainly, but look with attention."

109

i io ROUMANIAN STORIES

I looked, and after a time, getting accustomed
to the darkness, I, too, got the impression of some-
thing shining and smooth.

" The pool "

" Only the pool ? Some lights too ? "

" That is so," I whispered with a shudder.

There on the surface of the water were flicker-
ing points of fire. They could not come from
above, they were not glow-worms, or sparks such as
one sees passing over graves.

Ghicu Sina spoke :

<c They are reflections, the lights are burning in
the pool."

With the fear that seizes us in the presence of
the supernatural, I asked :

" What induced us to stay here ? "

" Where else could we stop ? There are no
sheep-folds in these parts, formerly there were such,
but since the death of the Spirit who guarded the
mountains, none of them remain."

After a pause he said slowly :

" You have heard of dead pools ? " He stood
immersed in thought. " This is a dead pool. I
will tell you about it

" Once upon a time, when the trees were burst-
ing into leaf, this district was full of sheep. Flock
after flock passed through, handled by sturdy
shepherds, well known in their own neighbourhood.
Then one spring-tide a stranger showed his face,

THE DEAD POOL in

beautiful as a god, wearing upon his shoulders a
cloak as white as snow. Every one wondered,
* Who may he be, and whence does he come ? '
Many tales passed round until the mystery began
to unravel itself. In the valley of the Tempe, so
runs the story, whither he had wandered with the
sheep, he fell in love with the beautiful Virghea.
Mad with love, when the family made the winter-
move, he followed her to the mountains ; he came
with a comrade and wandered about till he settled
his sheep-fold here, in these parts.

" Ah ! where had the fame of this Virghea of
Gramuste not reached ! All the beauties of nature
seemed to have bestowed some gift upon her : the
blue of heaven — the colour of her eyes ; the shadow
of the woods — the mystery of their liquid depths ;
the setting sun — the gold of her soft hair ; the
springs — the tone of her silvery laugh. Attracted
by such charms every youth fell at the feet of
Virghea. But she did not care ; only when her
eyes rested on the shepherd did her youthful being
fill with a burning desire.

" Now day after day from the high ground about
the sheep-fold could be heard the sound of a flute ;
heard in the stillness of the dusk it roused strange
longings in the girl's breast. Then she would steal
out of the house, and the shepherd himself would
come down towards Gramuste.

" About this time, there broke loose such a storm
as had never been seen before. The peaks began

ii2 ROUMANIAN STORIES

to rattle as though the mountains were changing
places, striking each other with noise like thunder.
Thus it continued for three days. Only on the
fourth day, late in the evening, could the shepherd
leave the fold : he had taken only a few steps when
— what a sight met his eyes by the side of the
pool ! A big fire, and round it a shadowy form.
And suddenly the phantom spoke with hand
pointing to the spit which he held above the heap
of burning coals : ' The heart of the Spirit of
Deniscu.'

" In a flash the shepherd realized the meaning
of the hurricane of the last few days. The guardian
Spirits of the mountains had striven together, and
one had been overthrown. The shadow continued
to speak : * Turn this spit that I may rest a while.
Taste not of the heart, for if you touch it you will
immediately die.'

" The shadow fell into a profound slumber.

" By the side of the fire the shepherd looked
fearfully on all sides. Far off, in the pale blue sky,
a star broke away ; it fell with a long tail of fire,
and went out. * Some one will die,' sighed the
shepherd. The words of the Spirit flashed through
his mind. ' H'm ! ' he said. * If I taste, perhaps
the contrary is true, who knows ? ' So thinking,
he put his finger on the heart on the spit and carried
it to his mouth. The sensation was unspeakably
pleasant. He laughed ; then quickly ate the whole
heart. Immediately there rose within him a cruel

THE DEAD POOL 113

passion towards the sleeping Spirit ; upon the spot
he killed it and took the heart. At once there
came to him the strength of a giant, the ground
began to tremble beneath his footsteps, while aerial
voices, and voices from the water, sounded round
him. Creatures never seen before emerged from
the pool ; linked together by their white hands
they danced round in whirling circles. Thus
changed, he reached his comrade at the fold, and
tried to explain, but his thoughts were elsewhere,
and his voice sounded as though from another
world. He finished with broken words : ( The
water calls me — tell no one what has happened to
me — take my flute : if danger threatens come to
the pool and sing to me.'

" During the evenings that followed Virghea saw
naught of the shepherd, and she wondered at not
seeing him, expecting him from day to day. So
days passed that seemed like weeks, and weeks
seemed months, and they went by without any
news of him till the poor maiden took to her bed
from grief. Then the comrade of the hills remem-
bered the shepherd's words. He came at midnight
to the side of the pool and sang — a long time he
sang. Towards dawn, when the strains of the flute
died away, there came from Gramuste the sound of
two strokes of a bell, then another two, and others
in succession, mournful, prolonged. The echoes
answered back, as though other bells were ringing
in other places, resounding from hill to hill until

ii4 ROUMANIAN STORIES

they reached the bottom of the pool, and after a
time," to the voice of the bells were joined real
words, sobbing to the rhythm : * Virghea is dead —
is dead ! ' "

Ghicu Sina paused a while. Although he had
only told me these things quite briefly, I felt their
secret had entered my soul ; with my eyes upon
the pool where the strange reflections constantly
played, I seemed to hear, as one sometimes hears
the faint voice of memory from a remote past, the
sound of the bells and their metallic words :
" Virghea is dead — is dead ! "

And then, the story adds, he rose from the pool.
Like the wind, he raised her in his arms and carried
her deep down to his translucent palace where, to
this day, little fiery points of light burn round the
head of the dead woman.

By I. CREANGA

OLD NICHIFOR is not a character out
of a story-book but a real man like other
men ; he was once, when he was alive, an
inhabitant of the Tzutzuen quarter of the town
of Neamtzu, towards the village of Neamtzu
Vinatori,

When old Nichifor lived in Tzutzuen my
grandfather's grandfather was piper at the christen-
ing feast at the house of Mosh Dedui from Vinatori,
the great Ciubar-Voda being godfather, to whom
Mosh Dedui gave forty-nine brown lambs with
only one eye each ; and the priest, uncle of my
mother's uncle, was Ciubuc the Bell-ringer from
the Neamtzu Monastery, who put up a big bell at
this same monastery at his own expense, and had
a fancy to ring it all by himself on big feast days,
on which account he was called the bell-ringer.
About this time old Nichifor lived at Tzutzuen.

Old Nichifor was a cab-driver. Although his
carriage was only fastened together with thongs

"5

ii6 ROUMANIAN STORIES

of lime and bark, it was still a good carriage, roomy
and comfortable. A hood of matting prevented
the sun and rain from beating down into old
Nichifor's carriage. In the well of the carriage
hung a grease box with a greasing stick and some
screws which banged against each other ding ! dong !
ding ! dong ! whenever the carriage moved. On
a hook below the boot — on the left — was suspended
a little axe to be ready for any emergency.

Two mares, white as snow and swift as flame,
nearly always supported the pole of the carriage ;
nearly always but not quite always ; old Nichifor
was a horse-dealer, and when he got the chance he
would either exchange or sell a mare in the middle
of a journey, and in that case the pole would be
bare on the one side. The old man liked to have
young, well-bred mares ; it was a weakness with
him. Perhaps you will ask me why mares and
always white ones, and I will tell you this : mares,
because old Nichifor liked to breed from them,
white, because the whiteness of the mares, he said,
served him as a lantern on the road at nights.

Old Nichifor was not among those who do not
know that " It is not good to be coachman behind
white horses or the slave of women ; " he knew
this, but the mares were his own, and when he took
care of them they were taken care of and when he
did not — well, there was no one to reproach him.
Old Nichifor avoided carrier's work ; he refused to
do any lifting for fear of giving himself a rupture.

OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR 117

" Cab driving," he said, " is much better ; one
has to deal with live goods who go up hill on foot,
and down hill on foot, and only stay in the carriage
when it halts."

Old Nichifor had a whip of hemp twig, plaited
by his own hand, with a silk lash, which he cracked
loud enough to deafen you. And whether he had
a full load or was empty, old Nichifor always walked
up the hills and usually pulled together with the
mares. Down the hills he walked to avoid laming
the mares.

The passengers, willing or unwilling, had to do
the same, for they had enough of old Nichifor's
tongue, who once rounded on one of them like
this : " Can't you get out and walk ; the horse is
not like a blockhead that talks." If you only knew
how to appreciate everything that fell from old
Nichifor's mouth, he was very witty. If he met a
rider on the road, he would ask : " Left the Prince
far behind, warrior ? " and then, all at once, he
would whip up the mares, saying :

" White for the leader, white for the wheeler,
The pole lies bare on the one side.
Heigh ! It's not far to Galatz. Heigh ! "

But if he met women and young girls then he sang
a knowing song, rather like this :

" When I took my old wife
Eight lovers did sigh :
Three women already wed,
And five girls, in one village."

n8 ROUMANIAN STORIES

They say, moreover, that one could not take the
road, especially in the month of May, with a
pleasanter or gayer man. Only sometimes, when
you pretended not to see you were passing the door
of a public house, because you did not feel inclined
to soften old Nichifor's throat, did you find him in
a bad mood, but even on these occasions he would
drive rapidly from one inn to the other. On one
occasion, especially, old Nichifor coveted two mares
which were marvels on the road, but at the inns,
whether he wanted to or no, they used to halt, for
he had bought them from a priest.

My father said that some old men, who had
heard it from old Nichifor's own lips, had told him
that at that time it was a good business being a cab-
driver in Neamtzu town. You drove from Varatic
to Agapia, from Agapia to Varatic, then to Raz-
boeni ; there were many customers, too, at the
church hostels. Sometimes you had to take
them to Peatra, sometimes to Folticeni, sometimes
to the fair, sometimes to Neamtzu Monastery,
sometimes all about the place to the different
festivals.

My father also said he had heard from my
grandfather's grandfather that the then prior of
Neamtzu is reported to have said to some nuns who
were wandering through the town during Holy
Week:

"Nuns!"

" Your blessing, reverend Father ! "

OLD NICH1FOR, THE IMPOSTOR 119

"Why do you not stay in the convent and
meditate during Passion Week ? "

" Because, reverend Father," they are said to
have replied with humility, " this wool worries us,
but for that we should not come. Your Reverence
knows we keep ourselves by selling serge, and
though we do not collect a great deal, still those
who go about get something to live on . . ."

Then, they say, the prior gave a sigh, and he
laid all the blame on old Nichifor, saying :

" I would the driver who brought you here
might die, for then he could not bring you so often
to the town."

They say old Nichifor was greatly troubled in
his mind when he heard this, and that he swore an
oath that as long as he lived he would never again
have dealings with the clergy, for, unfortunately,
old Nichifor was pious and was much afraid of fall-
ing under the ban of the priests. He quickly went
to the little monastery at Vovidenia to Chiviac, the
anchorite of St. Agura, who dyed his hair and
beard with black cherries, and on dry Friday he very
devoutly baked an egg at a candle that he might be
absolved from his sins. And after this he decided
that from henceforth he would have more to do with
the commercial side.

" The merchant," said old Nichifor, " lives by
his business and for himself."

When he was asked why, old Nichifor answered
jokingly :

120 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Because he has not got God for his master."

Old Nichifor was a wag among wags, there was
no doubt of it, but owing to all he had to put up
with he became a bit disagreeable.

I don't know what was the matter with her, but
for some time past, his old wife had begun to
grumble ; now this hurt her ; now that hurt her ;
now she had the ear-ache ; now some one had cast a
spell over her ; now she was in tears. She went
from one old witch to the other to get spells and
ointments. As for old Nichifor, this did not suit
him and he was not at all at his ease ; if he stayed
two or three days at home there was such bickering
and quarrelling and ill will that his poor old wife
rejoiced to see him leave the house.

It's plain old Nichifor was made for the road,
and that when he was off it he was a different
man ; let him be able to crack his whip and he was
ready to chaff all the travellers he met and tell
anecdotes about all the chief places he passed
through.

Early one day — it was the Wednesday before
Whit- Sun day — old Nichifor had taken a wheel off
the carriage, and was greasing it when suddenly
Master Shtrul of Neamtzu town came up behind
him ; he was a grocer ; a dealer in ointments ; he
took in washing ; he traded in cosmetics, hair-dyes,
toilet accessories, blue stone, rouge or some good
pomade for the face, palm branches, smelling salts
and other poisons.

OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR 121

At that time there was no apothecary in Neamtzu
town and Master Shtrul to please the monks and nuns
brought them all they wanted. Of course he did
other business too. To conclude, I hardly know how
to tell you, he was more important than the con-
fessor, for without him the monasteries could not
have existed.

" Good morning, Mosh Nichifor ! "

"Good luck to you, Master Shtrul. What
business brings you to us ? "

" My daughter-in-law wants to go to Peatra.
How much will you charge to take her there ? "

" Probably she will have a great many packages
like you do, sir," said old Nichifor, scratching his
head. " That doesn't matter ; she can have them.
My carriage is large ; it can hold a good deal. But
without bargaining, Master Shtrul, you give me
sixteen shillings and a gold irmal and I'll take her
there quite easily ; for you'll see, now I've attended
to it and put some of this excellent grease into it, the
carriage will run like a spinning-wheel."

"You must be satisfied with nine shillings,
Mosh Nichifor, and my son will give you a tip
when you get to Peatra."

" All right, then ; may God be with us, Master
Shtrul. I am glad the fair is in full swing just now ;
perhaps I shall get a customer for the return journey.
Now I would like to know when we have to start ? "

" Now, at once, Mosh Nichifor, if you are
ready."

122 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" I am ready, Master Shtrul ; I have only to
water the mares. Go and get your daughter-in-law
ready."

Old Nichifor was energetic and quick at his
work and he rapidly threw some fodder into the
carriage, spread out a couple of leather cushions, put
to the mares, flung his sheepskin cloak round his
shoulders, took his whip in his hand and was up and
away. Master Shtrul had scarcely reached home
when old Nichifor drew up his carriage at the door.
Malca — that was the name of Master Shtrul's
daughter-in-law — came out to take a look at the
driver.

This is Malca's story : it appeared that Peatra
was her native place ; she was very red in the face,
because she had been crying at parting with her
parents-in-law. It was the first time she had been
in Neamtzu ; it was her wedding visit as they say
with us. It was not much more than two weeks
since she had married Itzic, Master Shtrul's son, or,
it would be better to say, in all good fellowship, that
Itzic had married Malca. He had quitted his
parents' house according to the custom, and in two
weeks' time Itzic had brought Malca to Neamtzu
and placed her in his parents' hands and had returned
quickly to Peatra to look after his business.

" You have kept your promise, Mosh Nichi-
for?"

" Certainly, Master Shtrul ; my word is my
word. I don't trouble myself much. As for the

OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR 123

tourney, it's as well to set out early and to halt
in good time in the evening."

" Will you be able to reach Peatra by the
evening, Mosh Nichifor."

"Eh ! Do you know what you're talking
about, Master Shtrul ? I expect, so help me God,
to get your daughter-in-law to Peatra this after-
noon."

" You are very experienced, Mosh Nichifor ;
you know better than I do. All I beg of you is
that you will be very careful to let no harm befall
my daughter-in-law."

" I did not start driving the day before yester-
day, Master Shtrul. I have already driven dames
and nuns and noble ladies and other honest girls,
and, praise be to God, none have ever complained
of me. Only with the nun Evlampia, begging
sister from Varatic, did I have a little dispute.
Wherever she went it was her custom to tie a cow
to the back of the carriage, for economy's sake, that
she might have milk on the journey ; this caused
me great annoyance. The cow, just like a cow,
pulled the forage out of my carriage, once it broke
the rack, going uphill it pulled back, and once it
nearly strangled my mares. And I, unhappy man
that I am, was bold enough to say, * Little nun, isn't
it being a penny wise and a pound foolish ? ' Then
she looked sadly at me, and in a gentle voice said to
me, * Do not speak so, Mosh Nichifor, do not speak
thus of the poor little cow, for she, poor thing, is not

i24 ROUMANIAN STORIES

guilty of anything. The anchorite fathers of St.
Agura have ordained that I should drink milk from
a cow only, so that I may not get old quickly ; so
what is to be done ? I must listen to them, for
these holy men know a great deal better than do we
poor sinners.'

" When I heard this, I said to myself, that
perhaps the begging Sister had some reason on her
side, and I left her to her fate, for I saw that she was
funny and at all events was determined to drink
only from one well. But, Master Shtrul, I do not
think you are going to annoy me with cows too.
And, then, Mistress Malca, where it is very steep,
uphill or down, will always get out and walk a little
way. It is so beautiful out in the country then.
But there, we mustn't waste our time talking.
Come, jump in, Mistress Malca, that I may take
you home to your husband ; I know how sad it is
for these young wives when they have not got their
husbands with them ; they long for home as the
horse longs for his nose-bag."

" I am ready to come, Mosh Nichifor."
And she began at once to pick up the feather
mattress, the soft pillows, a bundle containing food,
and other commodities. Then Malca took leave
of her parents-in-law, and got on to the feather
mattresses in the bottom of the carriage. Old
Nichifor jumped on to the box, whipped up the
mares, and left Master Shtrul and his wife behind
in tears. Old Nichifor drove at a great pace

OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR 125

through the town, the mares seemed to be almost
flying. They passed the beach, the villages, and
the hill at Humuleshti in a second. From Ocea
nearly to Grumazeshti they went at the gallop.

But the other side of Grumazeshti old Nichifor
took a pull from the brandy flask which had come
from Brashov, lit his pipe, and began to let the
mares go their own pace.

" Look, Mistress Malca, do you see that fine,
large village ? It is called Grumazeshti. Were I
to have as many bulls and you as many sons as
Cossacks, barbarians and other low people have
dropped dead there from time to time, it would be
well for us ! "

" God grant I may have sons, Mosh Nichifor."

" And may I have bulls, young lady — I have
no hope of having sons ; my wife is an unfruitful
vine ; she has not been busy enough to give me
even one ; may she die before long ! When I am
dead there'll be nothing left but this battered old
carriage and these good-for-nothing mares ! "

" Don't distress yourself, Mosh Nichifor," said
Malca, " maybe God has willed it so ; because it is
written in our books, concerning some people, that
only in their old age did they beget sons."

" Don't bother me, Mistress Malca, with your
books. I know what I know ; it's all in vain, we
never can choose. I have heard it said in our
church that * a tree that bears no fruit should be
hewn down and cast into the fire.' Can one have

126 ROUMANIAN STORIES

anything clearer than that ? Really, I wonder how
I can have had patience to keep house with my
old woman so long. In this respect you are a
thousand times better off. If he does not give you
a child you'll get some one else. If that does not do
— why then another ; and in due time will come
a little blessing from the Almighty. It's not like
that with us who see ourselves condemned to live
with one barren stock to the end of our life with
no prospect of children. After all the great and
powerful Lord was not crucified for only one person
in this world. Isn't it so, young lady ? If you
have anything more to say, say it 1 "

" It may be so, Mosh Nichifor."

" Dear young lady, it is as I tell you. Houp
Ih ! We have gone a good part of the way. Lord,
how a man forgets the road when he's talking, and
when one wakes up who knows where one has got
to. It's a good thing the Holy God has given one
companionship ! Hi ! daughters of a dragon, get
on ! Here is the Grumazeshti Forest, the anxiety
of merchants and the terror of the boyars. Hei,
Mistress Malca, if this forest had a mouth to tell
what it has seen, our ears could not hear more
terrible adventures : I know we should hear some
things ! "

" But what has happened here, Mosh Nichifor? "

" Oh, young lady, oh ! God grant that what
has been may never be again ! One used to have
some trouble to pass through here without being

OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR 127

robbed, thrashed or murdered. Of course this
happened more often by night than by day. As
for me, up to now, I have never spoken in an
unlucky hour, God preserve me ! Wolves and
other wild beasts have come out in front of me at
different times, but I didn't hurt them ; I left
them alone, I pretended not to see anything, and
they went about their own business."

" Ah, Mosh Nichifor, don't talk about wolves
any more, for they terrify me."

I have told you how amusing old Nichifor was ;
sometimes he would say something that made you
hold your sides with laughing, at other times he
would bring your heart into your mouth with fear.

" There is a wolf coming towards us, Mistress
Malca ! "

" Woe is me ! Mosh Nichifor, where can I hide ?"

<{ Hide where you are, for I can tell you one
thing, I am not afraid of the whole pack."

Then poor Malca, terrified, clung round old
Nichifor's neck, and stuck to him like a leech, and
as she sat there she said, trembling :

" Where is the wolf, Mosh Nichifor ? "

" Where is it ? It crossed the road just in
front of us, and went into the wood again. But
if you had strangled me, young lady, and then the
mares had bolted, it would have been a fine look
out."

He had scarcely ceased speaking when Malca
said softly :

128 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Never tell me again that a wolf is coming,
Mosh Nichifor, I shall die from fright."

" It is not that I say so ; there is one just
coming ; there you have one ! "

" Alas ! What are you saying ? "

And again she hid close to old Nichifor.

0 What is young is young. You want to play,
young lady, isn't that it ? It seems to me you're
lucky, for I keep my self-control. I am not very
afraid of the wolf, but if some one else had been in
my place "

"No more wolves will come, Mosh Nichifor,
will they?"

'{ Oho ! you are too funny, young lady, you
want them to come too often. You mustn't expect
to see a wolf at every tree. On St. Andrew's Day
many of them prowl together in the same place and
the huntsmen are on the watch. During the great
hunt, do you think it's only a few wolves that are
put to shame by having to leave their skins as
hostages ? Now we will let the mares get their wind.
Look, this is * Dragon Hill.' Once an enormous
dragon alighted here, which spouted flames out
of his mouth, and when it whistled the forest
roared, the valleys groaned, the wild beasts trembled
and beat their heads together with fear, and no one
dared pass by here."

" Alas ! And where is the dragon, Mosh
Nichifor ? "

" How should I know, young lady ? The

OLD NICH1FOR, THE IMPOSTOR 129

forest is large, it knows where it has hidden itself.
Some say that after it had eaten a great many people
and peeled the bark off all the oaks in the wood it
expired at this spot. By others I have heard it said
that it made a black cow give it milk, and this
enabled it to rise again into the skies whence it had
fallen. But how do I know whom to believe ?
People will say anything ! Luckily I understand
witchcraft, and I am not at all afraid of dragons. I
can take serpents out of their nest as easily as you
can take a flea out of your poultry-house."

"Where did you learn these spells, Mosh
Nichifor ? "

" Eh ? My dear young lady, that I may not
tell. My old woman — she was just on twenty-four
when I fell in love with her — what hasn't she done !
How she has worried me to tell her, and I wouldn't
tell her. And that's why she'll die when she does
die, but why hasn't she died long before, for then I
could have got a younger woman. For three days
I can live in peace with her, and then it's enough to
kill one ! I am sick to death of the old hag. Every
minute she worries and reproaches me by her manner.
When I think that when I return I have got to go
back to her, I feel wild — just inclined to run away —
nothing more nor less."

" Stop, stop, Mosh Nichifor, you men are like
that."

" Eh ! Mistress Malca, here we are near the top
of the wood. Won't you walk a little while we go

K

130 ROUMANIAN STORIES

up the hill ? I only say it because I am afraid you
will get stiff sitting in the carriage. Look at the
lovely flowers along the edge of the wood, they fill
the air with sweetness. It is really a pity for you
to sit huddled up there."

" I am afraid of the wolf, Mosh Nichifor," said
Malca, shaking.

" Let's have done with that wolf. Have you
nothing else to talk about ? "

"Stand still that I may get down."

" Wo ! Step gently here on to the step of the
carriage. Ah, now I see for myself that you are
sturdy ; that's how I like people to be, born not
laid."

While Malca gathered some balm to take to
Itzic, old Nichifor stood still and tinkered a little at
the carriage. Then he called quickly :

" Are you ready, young lady ? Come, get in
and let us get on with the help of God ; from here
on it is mostly down hill."

After Malca has mounted she asked :

" Are we a little late, Mosh Nichifor ? "

" If we meet with no obstacles I shall soon have
you in Peatra."

And he whipped up the mares, saying :

" White for the leader, white for the wheeler
The pole lies bare on the one side.
Heigh ! It's not far to Galatz. Heigh ! "

He had scarcely gone twenty yards when — bang !
An axle-pin broke.

OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR 131

"Well, here's a to-do I"

" Woe is me ! Mosh Nichifor, we shall be
benighted in the wood."

" Don't take it amiss, Mistress Malca. Come,
it's only happened to me once in my life. While
you eat a little something, and the mares put away
a bit of fodder, I shall have replaced the axle-pin."

When old Nichifor came to look at the hook,
the little axe had disappeared 1

" Well, what has been had to be," said old
Nichifor, knitting his eyebrows, and getting angry
as he thought of it. " If God punishes the old
woman, may he punish her ! See how she takes
care of me ; there is no axe here."

When poor Malca heard this she began to sigh
and to say :

" Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do ? "

" Now, young lady, don't lose heart, for I have
still a ray of hope."

He drew his pocket-knife out of its sheath, he
went to the side of the carriage, and began to cut
away at a young oak of the previous year. He cut
it as best he could, then he began to rummage
about in a box in the carriage to find some rope ;
but how could he find it if it had not been put in ?
After looking and looking in vain, he cut the cord
from the nose-bag, and a strap from the bridle of
one of the mares to tie the sapling where it was
wanted, put the wheel in position, slipped in the
bit of wood which ran from the head of the axle to

132 ROUMANIAN STORIES

the staff-side of the carriage, twisted round the chain
which connected the head of the axle with the shaft>
and tied it to the step ; then he lit his pipe and
said :

" Look, my dear young lady, how necessity
teaches a man what to do. With old Nichifor of
Tzutzuen no one comes to grief on the road. But
from now on sit tight in the bottom of the carrriage,
and hold fast to the back of your seat, for I must
take these mares in hand and make them gallop.
Yes, I warrant you, my old woman won't have an
easy time when I get home. I'll play the devil
with her and teach her how to treat her husband
another time, for ' a woman who has not been beaten
is like a broken mill.' Hold tight, Mistress Malca !
Houp-k!"

And at once the mares began to gallop, the
wheels to go round, and the dust to whirl up into
the sky. But in a few yards the sapling began to
get hot and brittle and — off came the wheel again !

" Ah ! Everything is contrary ! It's evident
I crossed a priest early this morning or the devil
knows what."

" Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do ? "

"We shall do what we shall do, young lady.
But now stay quiet here, and don't speak a word.
It's lucky this didn't happen somewhere in the
middle of the fields. Praise be to God, in the
forest there is enough wood and to spare. Perhaps
some one will catch us up who can lend me an axe."

133

And as he spoke he saw a man coming towards
them.

" Well met, good man ! "

" So your carriage has broken the road 1 "

"Put chaff aside, man ; it would be better if
you came and helped me to mend this axle, for
you can see my heart's breaking with my ill
luck."

" But I am in a hurry to get to Oshlobeni.
You'll have to lament in the forest to-night ; I
don't think you'll die of boredom."

" I am ashamed of you," said Nichifor sulkily.
" You are older than I am and yet you have such
ideas in your head."

" Don't get excited, good man, I was only
joking. Good luck ! The Lord will show you
what to do." And on he went.

" Look, Mistress Malca, what people the devil
has put in this world 1 He is only out to steal.
If there had been a barrel of wine or brandy
about, do you think he would have left the
carriage stuck in the middle of the road all that
time ? But I see, anything there is to do must
be done by old Nichifor. We must have another
try."

And again he began to cut another sapling.
He tried and he tried till he got that, too, into
place. Then he whipped up the mares and once
more trotted a little way, but at the first slope, the
axle-pin broke again.

134 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Now, Mistress Malca, I must say the same as
that man, we shall have to spend the night in the
forest."

" Oh ! Woe is me ! Woe is me ! Mosh
Nichifor, what are you saying ? "

" I am saying what is obvious to my eyes.
Look yourself ; can't you see the sun is going
down behind the hill, and we are still in the same
place ? It is nothing at all, so don't worry. I
know of a clearing in the wood quite near here.
We will go there, and we shall be just as though we
were at home. The place is sheltered and the
mares can graze. You'll sleep in the carriage, and
I shall mount guard all night. The night soon
passes, we must spend it as best we can, but I will
remind my old woman all the rest of her days of
this misfortune, for it is her fault that things have
gone so with me."

" Well, do what you think best, Mosh Nichifor ;
it's sure to be right."

" Come, young lady, don't take it too much to
heart, for we shall be quite all right."

And at once old Nichifor unharnessed the
mares and, turning the carriage, he drew it as well
as he could, till he reached the clearing.

*' Mistress Malca, it is like a paradise straight
from God here ; where one lives for ever, one
never dies ! But you are not accustomed to the
beauty of the world. Let us walk a little bit while
we can still see, for we must collect sticks to keep

OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR 135

enough fire going all night to ward off the
mosquitoes and gnats in the world."

Poor Malca saw it was all one now. She began
to walk about and collect sticks.

" Lord 1 you look pretty, young lady. It
seems as though you are one of us. Didn't your
father once keep an inn in the village some-
where ? "

" For a long time he kept the inn at Bodesti."

" And I was wondering how you came to speak
Moldavian so well and why you looked like one of
our women. I cannot believe you were really
afraid of the wolf. Well, well, what do you think
of this clearing ? Would you like to die without
knowing the beauty of the world ? Do you hear
the nightingales, how charming they are ? Do you
hear the turtle-doves calling to each other ? "

" Mosh Nichifor, won't something happen to us
this evening ? What will Itzic say ? "

" Itzic ? Itzic will think himself a lucky man
when he sees you at home again."

" Do you think Itzic knows the world ? Or
what sort of accidents could happen on the road ? "

" He only knows how to walk about his hearth
or by the oven like my worn-out old woman at
home. Let me see whether you know how to
make a fire."

Malca arranged the sticks ; old Nichifor drew
out the tinder box and soon had a flame. Then old
Nichifor said :

136 ROUMANIAN STORIES

"Do you see, Mistress Malca, how beautifully
the wood burns ? "

" I see, Mosh Nichifor, but my heart is throb-
bing with fear."

" Ugh 1 you will excuse me, but you seem to
belong to the Itzic breed. Pluck up a little
courage 1 If you are so timid, get into the
carriage, and go to sleep : the night is short, day-
light soon comes."

Malca, encouraged by old Nichifor, got into the
carriage and lay down ; old Nichifor lighted his
pipe, spread out his sheepskin cloak and stretched
himself by the side of the fire and puffed away at
his pipe, and was just going off to sleep when a
spark flew out on to his nose 1

Cl Damn ! That must be a spark from the
sticks Malca picked up ; it has burnt me so. Are
you asleep, Mistress ? "

" I think I was sleeping a little, Mosh Nichifor,
but I had a nightmare and woke up."

" I have been unlucky too ; a spark jumped
out on to my nose and frightened sleep away or I
might have slept all night. But can anyone sleep
through the mad row these nightingales are
making ? They seem to do it on purpose. But
then, this is their time for making love to each
other. Are you asleep, young lady ? "

" I think I was going to sleep, Mosh Nichifor."

" Do you know, young lady, I think I will put
out the fire now at once : I have just remembered

OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR 137

that those wicked wolves prowl about and come
after smoke."

" Put it out, Mosh Nichifor, if that's the case."

Old Nichifor at once began to put dust on the
fire to smother it.

" From now on, Mistress Malca, you can sleep
without anxiety till the day dawns. There ! I've
put out the fire and forgotten to light my pipe.
But I've got the tinder box. The devil take you
nightingales : I know too well you make love to
each other ! "

Old Nichifor sat thinking deeply until he had
finished his pipe, then he rose softly and went up
to the carriage on the tips of his toes.

Malca had begun to snore a little. Old Nichifor
shook her gently and said :

" Mistress Malca ! Mistress Malca ! "

" I hear, Mosh Nichifor," replied Malca, tremb-
ling and frightened.

" Do you know what I've been thinking as I sat
by the fire ? "

"What, Mosh Nichifor?"

" After you have gone to sleep, I will mount one
of the mares, hurry home, fetch an axle-pin and axe,
and by daybreak I shall be back here again."

" Woe is me ! Mosh Nichifor, what are you
saying ? Do you want to find me dead from fright
when you come back ? "

" May God preserve you from such a thing !
Don't be frightened, I was only talking at random."

138 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" No, no, Mosh Nichifor, from now on I shall
not want to sleep ; I shall get down and sit by you
all night."

" You look after yourself, young lady ; you sit
quietly where you are, for you are comfortable."

" I am coming all the same."

And as she spoke down she came and sat on the
grass by old Nichifor. And first one, and then
the other was overcome by sleep, till both were
slumbering profoundly. And when they woke it
was broad daylight.

" See, Mistress Malca, here's the blessed day !
Get up and come and see what's to be done. There,
no one has eaten you, have they ? Only you have
had a great fright ! "

Malca fell asleep again at these words. But old
Nichifor, like a careful man, got up into the carriage,
and began rummaging about all over the place, and
under the forage bags, and what should there be but
the axe and a measure and a gimlet beneath the
seat.

" Who would have believed it ! Here's a pity 1
I was wondering why my old woman didn't take
care of me. Now because I wronged her so terribly
I must take her back a red fez and a bag of butter
to remind her of our youth. Evidently I took them
out yesterday with my pipe. But my poor, good
old wife, difficult though she is, knew all I should
want on the journey, only she did not put them in
their right place. But the woman tried to under-

OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR 139

stand all her husband wanted ! Mistress Malca !
Mistress Malca ! "
i " What is it, Mosh Nichifor ? "

" Do you know that I have found the axe, and
the rope and the gimlet and everything I want."

" Where, Mosh Nichifor ? "

"Why, under your bundles. Only they had
no mouths with which to tell me. We have made
a mistake : we have been like some one sitting on
hidden treasure and asking for alms. But it's good
that we have found them now. It shows my poor
old woman did put them in."

" Mosh Nichifor, you are feeling remorse in
your heart."

" Well, yes, young lady. I see I am at fault.
I must sing a song of penitence :

Poor old wife of mine !

Be she kind or be she harsh,

Still her home is mine."

And so saying old Nichifor rolled up his sleeves,
cut a beech stick, and made a wonderful axle-pin.
Then he set it in position, put the wheel in place,
harnessed the mares, quietly took the road and said :

" In you get, young lady, and let's start."

As the mares were refreshed and well rested they
were at Peatra by middle day.

" There you will see your home, Mistress
Malca."

" Thank God, Mosh Nichifor, that I came to no
harm in the forest."

1 40 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" The fact is, young lady, there's no doubt
about it, there's no place like home."

And while they were talking they reached the
door of Itzic's house. Itzic had only just come
back from the school, and when he saw Malca he was
beside himself with joy. But when he heard all
about the adventures they had met with and how
the Almighty had delivered them from danger he
did not know how to thank old Nichifor enough.
What did he not give him ! He himself marvelled
at all that was given him. The next day old
Nichifor went back with other customers. And
when he reached home he was so gay that his old
woman wondered what he had been doing, for he
was more drunk than he had been for a long time.

From now on Malca came every two or three
weeks to visit her parents-in-law in Neamtzu : she
would only let old Nichifor take her back home, and
she was never again afraid of wolves.

A year, or perhaps several years, after, over a glass
of wine, old Nichifor whispered to one of his friends
the story of the adventure in the " Dragon "
Wood, and the fright Mistress Malca got. Old
Nichifor's friend whispered it again to some friends
of his own, and then people, the way people will do,
began to give old Nichifor a nickname and say :
" Nichifor, the Impostor : Nichifor, the Impostor : "
and even though he is dead the poor man has kept
the name of Nichifor, the Impostor, to this very day.

COZMA RACOARE

BY M. SADOVEANU

HE was a terrible man, Cozma Racoare !
When I say Cozma, I seem to see, do you
know, I seem to see before me, a sinister-
looking man riding upon a bay horse ; two eyes
like steel pierce through me; I see a moustache
like twin sparrows. Fierce Rouman ! He rode
with a gun across his back, and with a knife
an ell long, here, in his belt, on the left side.
It was thus I always saw him. I am old, you
know, nigh on a hundred, I have travelled much
about the world, I have met various characters,
and many people, but I tell you, a man like
Cozma Racoare I have never seen ! Yet he was
not physically so terrible ; he was a man of
middle height, lean, with a brown face, a man
like many another — ha ! but all the same ! only
to have seen the eyes was to remember him.
Terrible Rouman !

There was grief and bitterness in the land at
that time. Turks and Greeks were overrunning

141

142 ROUMANIAN STORIES

the country on all sides, everywhere honest
men were complaining — they were hard times !
Cozma had no cares. To-day he was here, to-
morrow one heard of him, who knows where !
Every one fled before the storm, but he, good
Lord, he never cared 1 They caught him and
put him in chains. What need ? He just shook
himself, wrenched the bars with one hand, whistled
to his horse, and there he was on the road
again. Who did not know that Racoare had a
charmed life ? Ah, how many bullets were aimed
at his breast ! But in vain ! It was said of
him : only a silver bullet can slay him ! Where
do you see men like that nowadays ? Those times
are gone for ever.

Have you heard of the Feciorul Romancei ?
He was a fire-eater too ! He robbed the other
side of Muntenia, Cozma robbed this, and
one night — what a night ! — they both met at
Milcov, exchanged booty, and were back in their
homes before dawn. Were the frontier guards
on the watch ? Did they catch them as they
rode ? Why ! Racoare's horse flew like a phantom,
no bullet could touch him ! What a road that
is from here, across the mountains of Bacau, to
the frontier ! Eh ! to do it, there and back in
one night, you mark my words, that's no joke !
But that horse ! That's the truth of the matter,
that horse of Racoare's was not like any other horse.
That's clear.

COZMA RACOARE 143

Voda-Calimbach had an Arabian mare, which
his servants watched as the apple of his eye ;
she was due to foal. One night — it was in the
seventh month — Cozma got into the stall, ripped
open the mare and stole the foal. But that was
not all he did ! You understand the foal was
wrapped in a caul. Racoare cut the caul, but
he cut it in such a way as to split the foal's
nostrils. And look, the foal with the split
nostrils grew up in the dark fed upon nut
kernels ; and when Cozma mounted it — well, that
was a horse !

Even the wind, therefore, could not out-
distance Cozma. On one occasion — I was a
volunteer then — Cozma woke to find himself
within the walls of Probot, with volunteers in-
side and the Turks outside. The Turks were
battering the walls with their guns. The volun-
teers decided to surrender the fortress. Cozma
kept his own counsel. The next day Cozma was
nowhere to be found. But from the walls, up
to the forest of Probot, was a line of corpses !
That had been Racoare' s road !

That is how it always was ! His were the
woods and fields ! He recognized no authority,
he did not know what fear was, nor love — except
on one occasion. Terrible Rouman ! It seems
to me I can see him now, riding upon his bay
horse.

144 ROUMANIAN STORIES

At that time a Greek was managing the
Vulturesht estate, and on this side, on our estate,
within those ruined walls, there ruled such a
minx of a Roumanian as I had never seen before.
The Greek was pining for the Roumanian. 'And
no wonder ! The widow had eyebrows that met,
and the eyes of the devil — Lord ! Lord ! such
eyes would have tempted a saint. She had
been married, against her will, to a Greek, to
Dimitru Covas ; the Greek died, and now the lady
ruled alone over our estate.

As I tell you, Nicola Zamfiridi, the Greek,
was dying for the lady. What did that man not
do, where did he not go, what soothsayers did
he not visit, all in vain ! The lady would not
hear of it ! She hated the Greek. And yet
Nicola was not ill-favoured. He was a proud
Greek, bronzed, with pointed moustache and
curly beard. But still he did not please the
widow !

One day, Nicola sat pondering in his room
while he smoked. What was to be done ? He
most certainly wanted to marry, and to take her
for his wife ; why would she not hear of it ?

A few days before he had gone with Ciocirlie,
the gipsy, and had sung desperately outside the
walls. Alas, the courtyard remained still as stone!
What the devil was to be done ?

Boyar Nicola thought to himself: " You are
not ugly, you are not stupid — what's the reason

COZMA R AGO ARE 145

of it ? Is she, perhaps, in love with some one
else ? " No. He watched for one whole night.
Nobody entered, and nobody left the courtyard.

The boyar was angry. He rose, picked up a
whip and went out. The grooms were grooming
the horses in the yard.

"Is that horse supposed to be groomed?" he
shouted, and slash ! down came the whip on one
of the grooms.

Farther on the gardener was resting from the
heat.

" Is this how you look after the garden ?
Hey ! " and swish ! crack !

What next ? Was it any use losing one's
temper with the people ? He went into the garden,
and seated himself under a beautiful lime-tree.
There, on the stone bench, he pondered again.
His life was worthless if the woman he loved
would not look at him ! He watched the flight
of the withered leaves in the still air ; he heaved
a sigh.

" Vasile ! Vasile ! " called the boyar. His
voice rang sadly in the melancholy garden.

A sturdy old man came through the garden
door, and went towards his master.

" Vasile," said the boyar, " what is to be
done ? "

The old man eyed his master, then he, too,
sighed and scratched his head.

"What is to be done, Vasile ? "

146 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" How should I know, master ? "

" You must find something. Many people have
advised me, now you suggest something. I got
nothing out of that old witch, and Ciocirlie was
no good ; cannot you propose something ? "

« H'm "

"Do not desert me, Vasile 1 "

" H'm, master, I'll tell you something if you
will give me something."

" Take a ducat of mine, Vasilica — speak ! "

Vasile did not let himself be put off by the
mention of one ducat. He scratched his head
again.

"If I knew you would give me two ducats,
master, or even three, or many — you understand
— that's how it is ! What will be, will be ! I
say go right off to Frasini, go into the court-
yard, through the courtyard into the lady's boudoir
and steal her ! That's what I say ! "

" What are you talking about, good Vasile ! Is
it possible ! "

Vasile said no more. The boyar thought
deeply, his hand on his forehead ; then he said :

" That's what I must do, Vasile ! I know
what I have to do ! Bravo you, good Vasile ! "

"If only I knew I was, to get two ducats
reward ! " sighed Vasile, scratching his head.

And that evening Boyar Nicola kept his word.
He mounted his horse, took with him five companions
from among the grooms, and started out to Frasini.

COZMA RACOARE 147

The forest shuddered with the whisper of the
breeze of the autumn night. The men rode silently.
From time to time could be heard the trumpeting of
the cock, coming they knew not whence. Beyond
lay silence. At last the widow's courtyard came
into sight, black, like some heap of coal.

Like ghosts Nicola and his companions ap-
proached the wall ; in silence they dismounted ;
they threw rope-ladders over the top of the
wall, climbed up and over to the other side.
The horses remained tied to the trees.

Suddenly they heard cries. Boyar Nicola was
not afraid. He hurried to the door — the doors
were not shut He passed along the corridor.

" Aha ! " murmured the Greek. " Now I
shall have the darling in my arms."

But suddenly a door was opened, and a
bright sea of light illuminated the passage. Boyar
Nicola was not frightened. He advanced towards
the room. But he had scarcely gone two paces
when there, on the threshold, stood the Sultana,
with her hair undone, in a thin white petticoat
and a white dressing-jacket. With frowning brows
she stood in the doorway looking at the boyar.

Nicola was beside himself. He would
willingly have gone on his knees, and kissed her
feet, so beautiful was she. But he knew if he
knelt before her she would only mock him.
He approached to embrace her.

" Hold ! " cried the Sultana. " I thought

148 ROUMANIAN STORIES

there were thieves ! Ha, ha ! it is you, Boyar
Nicola?"

And suddenly, there in the light, she raised
a shining scimitar in her right hand. Nicola
felt a hard blow on the side of his head. He
stood still. His grooms started to run, but one
fell, yelling, and covered with blood. Just then
a great noise was heard, and the lady's servants
came in.

Nicola fled towards the exit followed by his
four companions. Then on into the yard with
scimitars flashing on their right and on their left
And once more they are on horseback fleeing towards
Vulturesht.

There he dismounted, feeling very bitter,
and entered the garden once more, and once
more sat on the stone bench, and hid his face in
his hands.

" Woe is me ! " he murmured miserably.
" How wretched is my life ! What is to be done ?
What is to be done ? "

He sat there in the October night tortured
by his thoughts. Only the breeze carrying the
mist from the fields disturbed him.

" Woe is me ! How wretched is my life ! "
and he bent forward, his head in his hands, his
elbows on his knees. " What a terrible woman ! "
he murmured again as he mused. " What eyes
she has ! Oh, Blessed Virgin ! Oh, Blessed Virgin !
Do not abandon me, for my heart is breaking ! "

COZMA R AGO ARE 149

For some time he stayed there dreaming. After
a while he rose and moved towards the house.

" What a terrible woman, and what eyes ! "

In the house he once more called for Vasile.

" Good Vasile, I am undone ! A terrible
woman, good Vasile — she has burnt my heart
and turned it to ashes ! What is to be done ?
Do not leave me ! Look, you understand, you
shall have two of my ducats."

" I know what you have been through, master.
She is a proud lady, there is no denying it ! If
I knew you would give me five ducats, or even
six — but there, it's only an idea "

" Speak, Vasile, good man, 1 will give you

What eyes ! Woe is me ! "

"Then I understand, master," says Vasile,
" that you give me seven ducats, but you'll have
to give seven times seven if you get her here at
your hand — don't be afraid, master, it is not much
— only seven times seven to have her here at your
hand ! I'll bring Cozma Racoare to you ! As sure
as you put the ducats into the palm of my hand, so
sure will he put the Sultana into your arms, that's
that "

Boyar Nicola was rather alarmed when he heard
talk of Cozma Racoare, but afterwards he sighed
and said :

" Good ! "

Three days later Racoare came. Nicola was
sitting on the stone bench in the garden under the

1 50 ROUMANIAN STORIES

lime-tree, smoking a pipe of fragrant tobacco.
When he caught sight of the highwayman he sat
gazing at him with startled eyes. Cozma came
calmly along with his horse's bridle in his left hand.
He wore top boots up to his knees with long steel
spurs. A long gun was slung across his back.
On his head was a black sheepskin cap. He walked
unconcernedly as usual with knitted brows ; his
horse followed him with bent head.

Vasile, the boyar's agent, came up to the stone
seat, scratching his head, and whispered with a grin :

" What do you say to this, master ? Just take
a look at him. He could bring you the devil
himself ! "

Boyar Nicola could not take his eyes off Cozma.
The highwayman stopped and said :

" God be with you ! "

" I thank you," replied Vasile. " God grant
it!"

The boyar remained persistently silent.

" H'm ! " murmured Vasile. " You have come
to see us, friend Cozma ? "

" I have come," responded Racoare.

" On our business ? "

" Yes."

Cozma spoke slowly, frowning ; wherever he
might be no smile ever lit up his face.

" Ah, yes, you have come," said the boyar, as if
awaking from sleep. "Vasile, go and tell them to
prepare coffee, but bring wine at once."

COZMA RACOARE 151

"Let them make coffee for one," said Cozma,
" I never drink."

Vasile went off grinning, after a side-glance at
his master.

"Ah, you never drink 1 " said the boyar with an
effort. " So, so, you have come on our business —
how much ? Ah, I am giving fifty ducats."

" Good ! " said Racoare quietly.

Vasile returned, smiling knowingly. The boyar
was silent.

" Eh," said Vasile, scratching his head, " how are
you getting on ? "

" Good Vasile, go and fetch the purse from
under my pillow."

" No, there is no need to give me a purse," said
the highwayman, " I have no need of money."

" What ? " murmured the boyar. " Ah, yes !
You do not need ? Why ? "

" The thing is to put the Sultana of Frasini into
your arms — I hand you over the lady, and you hand
me the money."

"Let's be brief! " cried Vasile, passing his hand
through his hair. " One party gives the lady, the
other the money. What did I tell you ? Cozma
would fetch you the devil from hell. From hence-
forth the lady is yours."

Racoare turned round, strode to the bottom of
the garden, fastened his horse to a tree, drew a
cloak of serge from his saddle, spread it out and
wrapped himself in it.

152 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Well ! Well 1 " groaned Boyar Nicola, breath-
ing heavily. " What a terrible man ! But I feel as
though he had taken a load off my mind."

Vasile smiled but said nothing. Later, when
he was by himself, he began to laugh and whisper :
" Ha, ha ! He who bears a charmed life is a lucky
man ! "

The boyar started up as from sleep and looked
fearfully at Vasile ; then he shook his head and
relapsed into thought.

" Ah, yes ! " he murmured, without under-
standing what he was talking about.

. . • • •

When night had fallen Cozma Racoare tightened
his horse's girths and mounted. Then he said :

" Boyar, wait for me in the glade at Vulturesht."

The gates were opened, the horse snorted and
rushed forth like a dragon.

The full moon shone through the veil of an
autumnal mist, weaving webs of light, lighting up
the silent hills and the dark woods. The rapid
flight of the bay broke the deep silence. Racoare
rode silently under the overhanging woods with
their sparse foliage ; he seemed like a phantom in
the blue light.

Then he reached Frasini. Every one was asleep,
the doors were shut. Cozma knocked at the door :
Rat-a-tat ! Rat-a-tat !

" Who is there ? ' cried a voice from within.

" Open ! * said Racoare.

COZMA RACOARE 153

" Who are you ? "

" Open ! " shouted Cozma.

From within was heard a whispered :

" Open ! " " Do not open I " " Open, it is
Cozma ! "

A light shone through a niche in the wall above
the door, and lighted up Cozma's face. Then a
rustling sound became audible, the light was ex-
tinguished, and the bar across the door rattled.

Cozma entered the empty courtyard, dismounted
by the steps, and pushed open the door.

" The door is open," he murmured, t( the lady
is not nervous."

In the dark corridor his footsteps and his spurs
echoed as in a church. A noise was heard in one
of the rooms, and a bright light shone into the
passage. The Sultana appeared in the doorway,
dressed in white with her hair unplaited, with
frowning brows and the scimitar in her right hand.

" Who are you ? What do you want ? " she
cried.

"I have come to fetch you," said Racoare
shortly, "and take you to Boyar Nicola."

" Ah, you are not burglars ? " said the lady, and
raised her scimitar. " See here, you will meet the
same fate as your Nicola 1 "

Racoare took a step forward, calmly seized the
scimitar, squeezed the lady's fist, and the steel blade
flew into a corner. The lady sprang quickly back,
calling :

154 ROUMANIAN STORIES

"Gavril! Niculai ! Toader 1 Help!"

Voices were heard, and the servants crowded
into the passage, and stood by the door. Racoare
approached the lady, and tried to seize her. She
avoided him, and caught up a knife from the
table.

" What are you doing, you boobies ? Help 1
Seize him, bind him ! "

" Don't talk nonsense — I see you are not
frightened ; I cannot do other than I am doing ! "
said Racoare.

Then the servants murmured again :

" How can we bind him ? It is Racoare. He
is here ! Cozma Racoare, lady ! "

" Cowards ! " cried the lady, and threw herself
upon Cozma.

The highwayman took her arm, pressed her
hands together, tied them with a leather strap, and
lifted her under his arm like a bundle.

" Get out of the way ! " he said then, and the
people fell over each other as they scattered to
either side.

" What a pearl among women ! " thought
Cozma, while he strode along the corridor with the
lady under his arm, " he has not bad taste, that
Boyar Nicola ! Proud woman 1 "

The Sultana looked with eyes wide with horror
at the servants who gave way on either hand in
their terror. She felt herself held as in a vice. At
last she raised her eyes to Racoare's fierce face.

COZMA RAROARE 155

The light from the room was reflected in the man's
steely eyes, and lit up his weather-beaten face.

"Who are you ? " she gasped.

" I ? Cozma Racoare."

The lady gave another glance at the servants
huddled in the corners, and she said not another
word. Now she understood.

Outside, the highwayman mounted the bay,
placed the lady in front of him, and set spurs to his
horse. Once more the sound of the galloping horse
broke the silence of the night.

" What a pearl among women ! " thought
Racoare, and the horse sped along the road like a
phantom.

The lady turned her head, and studied Racoare
by the light of the moon.

" Why do you look at me like that, lady ? "
And the horse sped along under the overhanging
woods.

The black hair of the lady shone in great
billows of light. The foliage glistened with hoar-
frost, like silver-leaf. The lady looked at the
highwayman and shuddered, she felt herself
squeezed in his powerful arms, and her eyes burnt
like two stars beneath the heavy knitted brows.

" Why do you look at me like that, lady ?
Why do you shiver ? Are you cold ? "

The galloping hooves thundered through the
glades, the leaves glittered in their silver sheen, and
the bay passed on like a phantom in the light.

156 ROUMANIAN STORIES

A shadow suddenly appeared in the distance.

"What is that yonder ? " questioned the lady.

" Boyar Nicola awaits us there," replied
Racoare.

The lady said no more. But Cozma felt her
stiffen herself. The leather strap was snapped, and
two white hands were lifted up. The highwayman
had no time to stop her. Like lightning she
seized the bridle in her right hand, and turned the
horse on the spot, but her left arm she twined
round Racoare's neck. The highwayman felt the
lady's head resting against his breast, and a voice
murmured softly :

" Would you give me to another ? "

And the horse flew like a phantom through the
blue light ; the meadows rang with the sound of
the galloping hooves, the silver leaves glistened,
and tresses of black hair floated in the wind. But
now shadows seemed to be pursuing them. The
hills on the horizon seemed peopled with strange
figures, which hurried through the light mist. But
the black phantom sped on, and ever onwards, till
it was lost in the far distance, in the gloom of the
night.

THE WANDERERS

BY M. SADOVEANU

A HOUSE stood isolated in the middle of a
garden, separated from the main group
about the market-place.

It was an old house, its veranda was both high
and broad and had big whitewashed pillars. The
pointed roof was tiled and green with moss. In
front of the veranda, and facing south, stood two
beautiful round lime-trees throwing out their
shade.

One day in the month of August, the owners,
Vladimir Savicky and Ana, his wife, were sitting in
the veranda. Both were old, weather-beaten by the
storms of many journeys and the misfortunes of
life. The old man wore a long white beard and
long white hair, which was parted down the middle
and smooth on the top ; he smoked a very long
pipe, and his blue eyes gazed towards the plains
which stretched away towards the sunset. The old
woman, Ana, selected a nosegay of flowers from a
basket. He was tall and vigorous still, she was
slight with gentle movements. Forty years ago

158 ROUMANIAN STORIES

they left their ruined Poland, and settled in our
country. They kept an adopted daughter, and had
a son of thirty years of age, a bachelor, and a good
craftsman. They had lived for thirty years here in
the old house, busying themselves with market-
gardening : for thirty years they had lived a sad,
monotonous life in this place. They had been
alone with their adopted child, with Magdalena ;
Roman, their boy, had been roaming through the
world for the last ten years.

Old Vladimir puffed away at his pipe as he
stroked his beard ; the warmth of the afternoon had
made him lay aside his blue jacket. The old wife
was choosing her flowers. A gentle breeze, laden
with fragrance, came from the garden, from the
trees heavy with fruit, and from the gay-coloured
flowers. Shafts of light penetrated through the
leafy limes, little patches of white light came from
above, and played over the bright grass, green as the
tree-frog. From time to time the quivering foliage
sent a melodious rustle into the peaceful balcony.

At intervals the soft notes of a song floated
through the open window.

Suddenly a resounding noise broke the stillness
of the day. What was it ? A carriage. The old
man started, put down his pipe, and rose. The old
woman put her head, wrapped in a white shawl, out
over the railings. The rumbling vehicle, an ugly
Jew upon the box, drew nearer, and pulled up out-
side the door of the old house. A strong, broad-

THE WANDERERS 159

shouldered young man descended, a big bundle in
his right hand, a case in his left.

" Roman ! Roman 1 " cried the old lady in a
feeble voice. She tried to rise but fell softly back
beside the flowers.

" There, there, old lady, it is Roman,"
murmured the old man gaily, as he went down the
stairs.

" Mr. Roman 1 " cried a gentle voice, and
Magdalena's fair head appeared at the window.

Roman had let fall the bundle and thrown himself
into his father's arms.

" Yes, old lady, it is Roman ! " murmured
Vladimir Savicky, with tears in his eyes. He
embraced his son, and pressed him to his heart.
" Yes, old lady, it is Roman ! " That was all he
could find to say.

" Mother," cried the young man, " I have not
seen you for ten years."

The old mother cried silently, her son strained
her to his breast, while the old man wandered round
murmuring tearfully into his beard :

" Yes, yes, old lady, it is our Roman."

As Roman Savicky straightened his strong
frame and turned round, he saw a white face with
blue eyes in the doorway. He stood transfixed
with astonishment ; the girl watched him, smiling
shyly.

" Ha ! ha 1 " laughed old Savicky, c< how now ?
Do you not know each other ? Ah 1 Kiss each

160 ROUMANIAN STORIES

other, you have known Magdalena ever since she
was a child."

The young people approached each other in
silence, the girl offered her cheek with eyelids
lowered, and Roman kissed her.

" I did not recognize her," said Roman, " she
has grown so big."

His mother laughed softly. " You, too, Roman,
you have grown much bigger — and handsome."

" Naturally our Roman is handsome," said the
old man, " our own Roman, old lady."

Again the mother kissed her son. Roman
seated himself upon a chair in the veranda, the old
man placed himself on his right, and the mother on
the left ; they watched him, feasting their eyes
upon him.

" My darling ! my darling ! " he said to the old
woman, " it is long since I have seen you."

In the end they grew silent, looking intently at
one another, smiling. The gentle rustle of the
lime trees broke the heat and stillness of the
August day.

" Whence do you come, Roman ? " questioned
the old man suddenly.

" From Warsaw," said his son, raising his head.

The old man opened wide his eyes, then he
turned towards Ana.

" Do you hear that, old lady, from Warsaw ? "

The old lady nodded her head, and said
wonderingly :

THE WANDERERS 161

" From Warsaw ! "

" Yes," said Roman, " I have journeyed through-
out Poland, full of bitterness, and I have wandered
among our exiled brothers in all parts of the
world."

Profound misery rang in his powerful voice.
The old people looked smilingly at him, lovingly,
but without understanding him. All acute feeling
for their country had long ago died away in their
hearts. They sat looking happily into the blue
eyes of their Roman, at his fair, smooth face, at his
beautiful luxuriant hair.

The young man began to speak. Gradually his
voice rose, it rang powerfully, full of sorrow and
bitterness. Where had he not been ! He had
been everywhere, and everywhere he had met exiled
Poles, pining away among strangers, dying far from
the land of their fathers. Everywhere the same
longing, everywhere the same sorrow. Tyrants
ruled over the old hearth, the cry of the oppressed
rent the air, patriots lay in chains or trod the road
to Siberia, crowds fled from the homes of their
fathers, strangers swept like a flood into their places.

" Roman, Roman ! " said the old woman, burst-
ing into tears, " how beautifully you talk."

"Beautifully talks our Roman, old lady," said
Vladimir Savicky sadly, "beautifully, but he brings
us sad tidings."

And in the old man's soul old longings and
bitter memories began to stir. On the threshold

M

162 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Magdalena stood dismayed and shuddered as she
looked at Roman.

Suddenly two old men entered by the door.
One had thick, grizzled whiskers, the other a long
beard in which shone silver threads.

" Ah," cried the old Savicky, " here comes
Palchevici, here comes Rujancowsky. Our Roman
has come ! Here he is ! "

"We know," said Rujancowsky gravely, "we
have seen him."

" Yes, yes, we have seen him," murmured
Palchevici.

They both approached and shook Roman warmly
by the hand.

" Good day and welcome to you ! See, now all
the Poles of this town are met together in one
place," said Rujancowsky.

" What ? " questioned Roman. " Only these
few are left ? "

"The others have passed away," said old
Savicky sadly.

"Yes, they have passed away," murmured
Palchevici, running his fingers through his big grey
whiskers.

They were all silent for a time.

"Old lady," said Vladimir Savicky, "go and
fetch a bottle of wine and get something to eat too,
perhaps Roman is hungry. But where are you ?
Where is Ana ? " asked the old man, looking at
Magdalena.

THE WANDERERS 163

" Do not worry, she has gone to get things
ready," replied the girl smilingly.

" 'Tis well ! 'tis well ! " Then turning towards
the two Poles. "You do not know how Roman
can talk. You should hear him. Roman, you
must say it again."

The old wife came with wine and cold meat.
She placed meat in front of her boy, and the wine
before the older men. They all began to talk.
But Roman's voice sounded melancholy in the still-
ness of the summer day. Then they began to
drink to Roman's health, to the health of each one
of them.

" To Poland ! " cried Roman excitedly, striking
the table with his fist. And then he began to
speak :

"Do you realize how the downtrodden people
begin to murmur and to agitate ? Soon there will
rise a mighty storm which will break down the
prison walls, the note of liberty will ring through
our native land I Ah, you do not know the anguish
and the bitterness there ! Stranger-ridden and
desolate ! Since Kosciusko died there are exiles
and desolation everywhere ! Mother," cried Roman,
then turning towards the old woman, "give me the
case from over there, I must sing something to
you."

With these words his eyes darkened and he
stared into space. The old people looked at him,
much moved, their heads upon their breasts, not

164 ROUMANIAN STORIES

speaking a word. Quiet reigned in the old house,
and in the garden there was peace ; a fiery sunset,
crowned with clouds of flame, was merging into the
green sea of the woods. Golden rays penetrated
into the old veranda and shone on Roman's hair.

His mother handed him the case.

" Well," said the young man, " I will sing you
something with my cither. I will sing of our
grief."

Then, beneath his fingers, the strings began to
murmur as though awaking from sleep. Roman
bent forward and began, the old people sat
motionless round him.

Sad tones vibrated through the quiet of the old
house, notes soft and sorrowful like some remote
mournful cry, notes deep with the tremor of afflic-
tion ; the melody rose sobbing through the clear
sunset like the flight of some bird of passage.

In the souls of the old people there rose like
a storm the clamour of past sorrows. The song
lamented the ruin of fair lands ; they seemed to
listen, as in a sad dream, to the bitter tears of those
dying for their native land. They seemed to see
Kosciusko, worn with the struggle, covered in blood,
kneeling with a sword in hand.

Finis Poloniae ! Poland is no more ! Ruin
everywhere, death all around ; a cry of sorrow rose ;
the children were torn from their unhappy land to
pine away and die on alien soil !

The chords surged, full of grief, through the

THE WANDERERS 165

clear sunset. Then slowly, slowly, the melody died
away as though tired with sorrow until the final
chord finished softly, like a distant tremor, ending
in deathlike silence.

The listeners seemed turned to stone. Roman
leant his head upon his hand, and his eyes, full
of pain, turned towards the flaming sunset. His
chin trembled ; his mind was full of bitter memories.
The old men sat as though stunned, like some
wounded creatures, their heads upon their breasts ;
the old mother cried softly, sighing, her eyes upon
her Roman. As the young man turned his eyes
towards the door he saw two bright tears in
Magdalena's blue eyes ; amid a deep silence his
own eyes gazed into the girl's while the last crimson
rays faded away from the woods.

THE FLEDGELING

BY I. AL. BRATESCU-VOINESHTI

NE springtime a quail nearly dead with
fatigue — she came from far-away Africa —
dropped from her flight into a green corn-
field on the edge of a plantation. After a few days
of rest she began to collect twigs, dried leaves, straw,
and bits of hay, and made herself a nest on a mound
of earth, high up, so that the rain would not spoil
it ; then for seven days in succession she laid an
egg, in all seven eggs, as small as sugar eggs, and
she began to sit upon them.

Have you seen how a hen sits on her eggs ?
Well, that is how the quail did, but instead of
sitting in a coop, she sat out of doors, among the
grain ; it rained, it pelted with rain, but she never
moved, and not a drop reached the eggs. After
three weeks there hatched out some sweet little
birds, not naked like the young of a sparrow, but
covered with yellow fluff, like chickens, only smaller,
like seven little balls of silk, and they began to
scramble through the corn, looking for food. Some-
times the quail caught an ant, sometimes a grass-

167

1 68 ROUMANIAN STORIES

hopper, which she broke into pieces for them, and
with their little beaks they went pic ! pic ! pic ! and
ate it up immediately.

They were pretty and prudent and obedient ;
they walked about near their mother, and when she
called to them " pitpalac ! " they ran quickly back
to her. Once, in the month of June, when the
peasants came to reap the corn, the eldest of the
chicks did not run quickly at his mother's call, and,
alas, a boy caught him under his cap. He alone
could tell the overwhelming fear he felt when he
found himself clasped in the boy's hand ; his heart
beat like the watch in my pocket. Luckily for him
an old peasant begged him off.

" Let him go, Marin, it's a pity on him, he will
die. Don't you see he can hardly move, he is quite
dazed."

When he found himself free, he fled full of
fear to the quail to tell her what had befallen him.
She drew him to her and comforted him, and said
to him :

u Do you see what will happen if you do not
listen to me ? When you are big you can do what
you like, but while you are little you must follow
my words or something worse may overtake you."

And thus they lived, contented and happy. The
cutting of the corn and the stacking of the sheaves
shook a mass of seeds on to the stubble which gave
them food, and, although there was no water near,
they did not suffer from thirst because in the early

THE FLEDGELING 169

morning they drank the dew-drops on the blades of
grass. By day, when it was very hot, they stayed
in the shade of the plantation ; in the afternoon,
when the heat grew less, they all went out on to
the stubble, but on the cold nights they would
gather in a group under the protecting wings of the
quail as under a tent. Gradually the fluff upon
them had changed into down and feathers, and with
their mother's help they began to fly. The flying
lesson took place in the early morning towards sun-
rise, when night was turning into day, and in the
evening in the twilight, for during the daytime
there was danger from the hawks which hovered
above the stubble-field.

Their mother sat upon the edge and asked
them :

" Are you ready ? "

" Yes," they answered.

" One, two, three 1 "

And when she said " three," whrrr ! away they
all flew from the side of the plantation, as far as the
sentry-box on the high road, and back again. And
their mother told them they were learning to fly in
preparation for a long journey they would have to.
take when the summer was over.

" We shall have to fly high up above the earth
for days and nights, and we shall see below us great
towns and rivers and the sea."

One afternoon towards the end of August, while
the chicks were playing happily near their mother

170 ROUMANIAN STORIES

in the stubble, a carriage was heard approaching,
and it stopped in the track by the edge of the
plantation. They all raised their heads with eyes
like black beads and listened. A voice could be
heard calling : " Nero ! to heel ! "

The chicks did not understand, but their mother
knew it was a man out shooting, and she stood
petrified with fear. The plantation was their refuge,
but exactly from that direction came the sportsman.
After a moment's thought she ordered them to
crouch down close to the earth, and on no con-
sideration to move.

" I must rise, you must stay motionless, he who
flies is lost. Do you understand ? "

The chicks blinked their eyes to show they
understood, and remained waiting in silence. They
could hear the rustling of a dog moving through
the stubble, and from time to time could be heard
a man's voice : <c Where are you ? To heel,
Nero ! "

The rustling drew near — the dog saw them ; he
remained stationary, one paw in the air, his eyes
fixed upon them.

" Do not move," whispered the quail to them,
and she ran quickly farther away from them.

The dog followed slowly after her. The sports-
man hurried up. His foot was so near to them
that they could see an ant crawling up the leg of
his boot. Oh, how their hearts beat 1 A few
seconds later the quail rose, and flew low along the

THE FLEDGELING 171

ground a few inches in front of the dog's muzzle.
It pursued her, and the sportsman followed, shout-
ing : " To heel ! to heel ! " He could not shoot
for fear of hurting the dog ; the quail pretended
to be wounded so well that the dog was determined
to catch her at all cost, but when she thought she
was out of range of the gun she quickly flew for
shelter towards the plantation.

During this time, the eldest fledgeling, instead
of remaining motionless like his brothers, as their
mother bade them, had taken to his wings ; the
sportsman heard the sound of his flight, turned and
shot. He was some distance away. Only a single
shot reached his wings. He did not fall, he
managed to fly as far as the plantation, but there
the movement of the wings caused the bone which
had only been cracked at first to give way altogether,
and the fledgeling fell with a broken wing.

The sportsman, knowing the plantation was
very thick, and seeing it was a question of a young
bird only, decided it was not worth while to look
for it among the trees. The other little birds did
not move from the spot where the quail had left
them.

They listened in silence. From time to time
they heard the report of a gun and the voice of the
sportsman calling : " Bring it here 1 " After a
time the carriage left the cart-track by the plantation
and followed the sportsman ; gradually the shots
and the shouting became fainter and died away, and

i;2 ROUMANIAN STORIES

in the silence of the evening nothing could be heard
but the song of the crickets ; but when night had
fallen and the moon had risen above Cornatzel, they
clearly heard their mother's voice calling to them
from the end of the stubble : " Pitpalac ! pitpalac 1 "
They flew quickly towards her and found her.
She counted them ; one was missing.

" Where is the eldest one ? "

" We do not know — he flew off."

Then the heart-broken quail began to call
loudly, and yet more loudly, listening on every
side. A faint voice from the plantation answered :
" Piu ! piu ! " When she found him, when she saw
the broken wing, she knew his fate was sealed, but
she hid her own grief in order not to discourage him.

From now on, sad days began for the poor
fledgeling. He could scarcely move with his wing
trailing behind him ; with tearful eyes he watched his
brothers learning to fly in the early morning and in
the evening ; at night when the others were asleep
under his mother's wings, he would ask her
anxiously :

" Mother, I shall get well, I shall be able to go
with you, shan't I ? And you will show me, too,
the big cities and rivers and the sea, won't you ? "

" Yes," answered the quail, forcing herself not
to cry.

In this way the summer passed. Peasants came
with ploughs to plough up the stubble, the quail
and her children removed to a neighbouring field of

THE FLEDGELING 173

maize ; after a time men came to gather in the
maize. They cut the straw and hoed up the ground,
then the quails retired to the rough grass by the
edge of the plantation.

The long, beautiful days gave place to short
and gloomy ones, the weather began to grow foggy
and the leaves of the plantation withered. In the
evening, belated swallows could be seen flying low
along the ground, sometimes other flocks of birds of
passage passed and, in the stillness of the frosty
nights, the cry of the cranes could be heard, all
migrating in the same direction, towards the south.

A bitter struggle took place in the heart of the
poor quail. She would fain have torn herself in
two, that one half might go with her strong children
who began to suffer from the cold as the autumn
advanced, and the other half remain with the injured
chick which clung to her so desperately. One day,
without any warning, the north-east wind blew a
dangerous blast, and that decided her. Better that
one of the fledgelings should die than that all of
them should — and without looking back lest her
resolution should weaken, she soared away with
the strong little birds, while the wounded one called
piteously :

" Do not desert me ! Do not desert me ! "

He tried to rise after them, but could not, and
remained on the same spot following them with his
eyes until they were lost to sight on the southern
horizon.

174 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Three days later, the whole region was clothed
in winter's white, cold garb. The violent snow-
storm was followed by a calm as clear as crystal,
accompanied by a severe frost.

On the edge of the plantation lay a young quail
with a broken wing and stiff with cold. After a
period of great suffering he had fallen into a pleasant
state of semi-consciousness. Through his mind
flashed fragments of things seen — the stubble-field,
the leg of a boot with an ant crawling upon it, his
mother's warm wings. He turned over from one
side to the other and lay dead with his little claws
pressed together as though in an act of devotion.

POPA TANDA

BY I. SLAVICI

GOD have mercy on the soul of Schoolmaster
Pintilie ! He was a good man, and a well-
known chorister. He was very fond of
salad with vinegar. Whenever he was hoarse, he
would drink the yolk of an egg with it ; when he
raised his voice, the windows rattled while he sang,
"Oh, Lord, preserve Thy people." He was school-
master in Butucani, a fine, large town containing
men of position and sound sense, and given to
almsgiving and hospitality. Now Schoolmaster
Pintilie had only two children : a daughter married
to Petrea Tzapu, and Trandafir, Father Trandafir,
priest in Saraceni.

God keep Father Trandafir ! He was a good
man, he had studied many books, and he sang even
better than his dead father, God have mercy on his
soul ! He always spoke correctly and carefully as
though he were reading out of a book. Father
Trandafir was an industrious, careful man. He
gathered from many sources, and made something
out of nothing. He saved, he mended, he collected
to get enough for himself and for others.

'75

176 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Father Trandafir went through a great deal in
his youth. One does not achieve big results in a
minute or two. The poor man has to go without
a great deal more than he ever gets. He worked
harder with his brain than with a spade and fork.
But what he did was not work thrown away.
Young Trandafir became priest in his native town,
in Butucani, a fine large town containing men of
position and good sense, but Trandafir did not enjoy
the almsgiving and hospitality.

Father Trandafir would have been a wonderful
man had not one thing spoilt him. He was too
severe in his speech, too harsh in his judgments ;
he was too straightforward and outspoken. He
never minded his words, but said right out what he
had in his mind. It is not good to be a man like
that. Men take ofFence if you speak too plainly to
them, and it is best to live peaceably with the world.
This was evident in Father Trandafir's case. A
man like him could not stay two years in Butucani.
It was first one thing, then another ; at one time
he complained to the townspeople, the next time to
the archdeacon. Now it is well known that priests
must not make complaints to the archdeacon. The
archdeacon understands presents much better than
complaints. But that was what Father Trandafir
would not comprehend.

There is no doubt that Father Trandafir was in
the right.

But the thing is, right is the prerogative of the

POPA TANDA 177

mighty. The weak can only assert themselves
gradually. The ant cannot overthrow the mountain.
It can, though, change its position ; but slowly,
slowly, bit by bit. Perhaps the Father knew that
this was so in the world ; he had his own standard,
though.

" Even the devil cannot turn what is true and
right into a lie ! " This was his remark, and with
this remark he got himself turned out of Butucani.
That is to say, it was not only he who did it, it was
the townspeople too. One word and a little some-
thing besides to promote a good understanding with
the archdeacon, a visit to the bishop, and a word
there from the archdeacon : things get done if one
knows how to do them. The long and the short of
it was that Father Trandafir was sent from Butucani
to Saraceni — to promote a good understanding
among the faithful. Priest in Saraceni ! Who
knows what that means to be priest in Saraceni ?
That is what befell Father Trandafir ! Who would
fain leap the ditch throws his bag over it first.
Father Trandafir only had a wife and two children ;
his bag was empty. That was why he leaped so
unwillingly from Butucani to Saraceni.

In the " Dry Valley " there was a village which
they called " Saraceni." A village called " poor "
in a " dry " valley ; could any place have a more
unpleasant name ?

The Dry Valley !

" Valley " because the place was shut in between

1 78 ROUMANIAN STORIES

mountains ; " dry," because the stream, which had
cut its way through the middle of the valley, was dry
most of the year.

This was how the valley lies.

To the right stood a hill called " Ripoasa."
On the left were three other hills, called " Fatza,"
"Grofnitza," and "Alunish." Ripoasa was rocky.
Fatza was cultivated ; the village stood on
Grofnitza, while on Alunish lay the village grave-
yard among hazel and birch trees. Thus it lay to
right and left, but the chief feature of the landscape
stood at the bottom. Here rose the mountains —
from there, came what did come.

The other side, beyond Ripoasa was the Rapitza
Valley — a much deeper valley than the Dry Valley,
and so called because the Rapitza flowed through it.
The Rapitza was a treacherous river, especially in
the spring, and the stream in the Dry Valley was a
branch of the Rapitza. In the spring, when the
snow melted on the mountains, the Rapitza got
angry and poured part of her fury into the branch
that flowed through the Dry Valley, and the latter
ceased to be u dry."

In a few hours the inhabitants of Saraceni were
rather too rich in water. This occurred nearly
every year. When the crops in the valley appeared
to be most favourable, the Dry Valley belied its
name and washed away all that lay in its path.

It would have been rather better if this invasion
had lasted only a short time, but the water remained

POPA TANDA 179

in the valley, and in many places formed refuges
for the frog family. And instead of corn, osiers
and interlacing willows grew by the side of its
pools.

Was it any wonder that in consequence of this
the people of Saraceni had become in time the most
idle of men ? He is a fool who sows where he
cannot reap, or where he does not know whether he
will be able to reap or not. The Fatza was a sandy
spot ; the corn grew a few inches high and the
maize a yard ; on Ripoasa one could not grow
blackberries even, for at the bottom the water spoilt
the fruit. Where there is no hope of reward there
is no incentive to work. Whoever works wants to
earn, but the people of Saraceni had given up all
thoughts of gain, and therefore no one felt inspired
to work. Those who could afford it passed their
time lying out of doors ; those who could not, spent
their day working in the neighbouring villages.
When the winter came life was hard and bitter.

But whoever has got used to the bad does not
think of better things ; the people of Saraceni
appeared to think that things could not be better
than they were. Fish in the water, birds in the air,
moles in the ground, and the people of Saraceni in
poverty !

Saraceni ? One can imagine what a vilkge like
Saraceni must have been ; here a house, there a
house — all alike. Hedges were superfluous, seeing
there was nothing to enclose ; the street was the

i8o ROUMANIAN STORIES

whole village. It would have been absurd to put a
chimney on the house — the smoke found its way
out through the roof. There would have been no
sense in putting plaster on the walls either, as that
dropped off in time. Some of the buildings were
made of bits of wood knocked together, a roof of
straw mixed with hay, an oven of clay, an old-
fashioned veranda outside, a bed with four posts
built into the ground, a door made out of three
boards held together by two stakes placed cross-
wise— quickly made and well made — whoever was
not pleased with it, let him make something he
liked better.

At the top of the village, that is to say on the
highest point, was a sort of building which the
Saracenese called the "church." It was a heap of
old tree trunks piled one on the top of the other in
the form of walls. In the old days — when, one
does not know — these kind of walls were open to
the sky ; later, one does not know when, the walls
had been made to converge in one place, to support
what was supposed to do duty for a tower. This —
owing to the fact that the supports of the facade had
perished through the buffeting of a very strong
wind — had fallen towards the patient earth, dragging
the entire structure after it. And there it had
remained ever since, for the church counted for
little in Saraceni ; it was superfluous.

Priest ? They say there is no village without a
priest. Probably whoever said this did not know

POPA TANDA 181

about Saraceni. Saraceni was a village without a
priest. That is to say, it was a village with a priest
— only this priest was a priest without a village.
Saraceni was unique in one way. There had never
been a priest who stayed more than three days in
Saraceni ; he came one day, stayed the next, and
left on the third. Many guilty priests passed
through Saraceni ; whoever had stayed there long
would have expiated all his sins.

Then Father Trandafir reached this penitential
spot. He could not expect to do as the others had
done, come one day, stay the next, and depart the
third. He was too much out of favour with the
archdeacon to imagine that he would send him to
another village. He could not remain without a
village : a priest without a village — a cart without
a wheel, a yoke without oxen, a hat on the top of a
wig. He began to think what he must do ; he
must take things as they were, and stay gladly in
Saraceni. It was only a village in name, but no
one could say he was a priest without a village.
But really a more suitable priest for a more suitable
village you could not have found. The poverty of
the priest corresponded to the poverty in the homes
of his parishioners. From the beginning Trandafir
realized one thing : it was much nicer in Butucani
than in Saraceni. There the people all had some-
thing, and you could always have some of it.
In Saraceni all the latches were made of wood.
Then the Father reflected : the priest did all the

1 82 ROUMANIAN STORIES

business of the town, but the town took care of the
priest's purse. Before long the Father began to
feel sure that the people who started by being
charitable and hospitable were not born fools. " It
is a wise thing when men meet together to comfort
and cheer each other. Even our Redeemer began
with almsgiving, and the wedding at Cana of
Galilee." Thus thought Father Trandafir ; but in
Saraceni there was neither almsgiving nor hospitality.

" There is one thing," said the Father to himself
a little later on, " in a poor village there is no corn
for the priest to gather. As long as the people of
Saraceni are lazy, so long shall I be hungry ! " And
he began to think how he was going to make his
parishioners industrious. The industrious man eats
the stones, makes soup out of the stagnant water,
and reaps corn where the hemlock used to grow.
" Then " — concluded the priest — " when the cow
has fodder she is no longer dry ! "

Thus he spoke, and he set to work to put it in
practice. A man who has nothing to eat busies
himself with other people's affairs. He does no
good that way ! The blind man cannot aid the
cripple ; the hungry don't improve their village ;
when the geese keep watch among the vegetables,
little remains for the gardener : but Father Trandafir
was obstinate ; when he started, he went on — and
he got there, or he died by the way.

The first Sunday Father Trandafir preached
before the people, who had assembled in consider-

POPA TANDA 183

able numbers to see the new priest. There is
nothing more agreeable to a man who desires the
welfare of others than to see his words making an
impression. A good thought multiplies itself, pene-
trating many hearts, and whoever possesses it and
passes it on, if he values it, rejoices to see it gaining
ground in the world. Father Trandafir felt happy
that day. Never before had he been listened to
with such attention as on this occasion. It seemed
as though these people were listening to something
which they knew but which they did not under-
stand well. They drank in his words with such
eagerness, it was as though they wanted to read his
very soul the better to understand his teaching.
That day he read the gospel of " The Prodigal Son."
Father Trandafir showed how God, in His unending
love for man, had created him to be happy. Having
placed man in the world, God wishes him to enjoy
all the innocent pleasures of life, for only so will he
learn to love life and live charitably with his neigh-
bours. The man who, through his own fault or
owing to other causes, only feels the bitterness and
sorrow of this world cannot love life ; and, not
loving it, he despises in a sinful manner the great
gift of God.

What kind of people are the lazy people, the
people who make no effort, who do not stretch out
a hand to take this gift ? They are sinners ! They
have no desires — only carnal appetites. Man has
been given pure desires which he may gratify with

1 84 ROUMANIAN STORIES

the fruit of his labours ; longings are put into his
heart that he may conquer the world while God
Himself contemplates him with pleasure from on
high. To work is the first duty of man ; and he
who does not work is a sinner.

After this, the Father sketched in words which
seemed to give life to his ideas the miserable exist-
ence of a man perishing from hunger, and he gave
his faithful hearers the thoughts which had germi-
nated in his own intelligent brain — how they must
work in the spring and in the summer, in the
autumn and in the winter.

The people had listened ; the Father's words
were written on their faces ; going home they could
only talk of what they had heard in church, and
each one felt himself more of a man than before.

Maybe there were many among them who only
waited for Sunday to pass that they might begin
their first day of work.

" There has never been such a priest in Saraceni ! "
said Marcu Flori Cucu, as he parted from his
neighbour, Mitru.

" A priest that does honour to a village," replied
Mitru, as if he felt that his village was not exactly
honoured.

Other Sundays followed. Father Trandafir was
ready with his sermon. The second Sunday he had
no one to address. The weather was wet, and
people stayed at home. Other Sundays the weather
was fine ; probably then the people did not remember

POP A TANDA 185

in time ; they were loath to part from God's blue
sky. And so the Father only had in church some
old woman or some aged man with failing sight and
deaf ears. Sometimes there was only Cozonac, the
bell-ringer. In this way he made no progress. Had
he been a different kind of man he would have
stopped here.

But Father Trandafir was like the goat among
cabbages in the garden. When you turn it out at
the door, it comes in through the fence, when you
mend the fence, it jumps over it, and does a lot
more damage by destroying the top of the hedge.

God keep him ! Father Trandafir still remained
a good man.

" Wait ! " he said. " If you will not come to
me, I will go to you 1 "

Then the priest went from door to door. He
never ceased talking from the moment it was light.
Whenever he came across anyone he gave him good
advice. You met the priest in the fields ; you found
him on the hill ; if you went down the valley you
encountered the priest ; the priest was in the woods.
The priest was in church ; the priest was at the
death-bed ; the priest was at the wedding ; the priest
was with your next-door neighbour — you had to fly
the village if you wanted to escape the priest. And
whenever he met you, he gave you wise counsel.

During a whole year, Father Trandafir gave
good advice. People listened gladly — they liked to
stay and talk to the priest even if he did give them

1 86 ROUMANIAN STORIES

good advice. All the same, the old saying holds
good : men know what they ought to do, but they
don't do it. The Father was disappointed. After
a certain time he ceased to give advice. There was
not a man in the village upon whom he had not
poured the whole weight of his learning : he had
nothing more to say.

" This will not do," said the priest once more.
"Advice does not pay. I must start something
more severe."

He began to chaff.

Wherever he found a man, Father Trandafir
began to make him ridiculous, to make fun of him
in every kind of way. If he passed a house that
had not been re-roofed yesterday, he would say to
the owner : " Oh, you are a clever man, you are !
You have windows in the roof. You do love the
light and the blessed sun ! " If he found a woman
in a dirty blouse : " Look at me ! Since when
have you taken to wearing stuff dresses ? "

If he met an unwashed child : " Listen, good
wife, you must have a lot of plum jam if you can
plaster your children with it ! " And if he came
across a man lying in the shade he would say to
him, " Good luck with your work ! Good luck
with your work ! " If the man got up, he would
beg him not to stop work, for his children's sake.

He began like this, but he carried it altogether
too far. It got to such a pitch that the people did
their utmost to get out of the priest's way. He

POPA TANDA 187

became a perfect pest. The worst thing about it
was that the people nicknamed him " Popa Tanda "
because he chaffed them so. And " Popa Tanda "
he has remained ever since.

To tell the truth, it was only in one way the
people did not like the priest. Each one was ready
to laugh at the others with the priest ; no one was
pleased, though, when the others laughed at him.
That is human ; every one is ready to saddle his
neighbour's mare. In that way, Father Trandafir
pleased his parishioners, but he was not content
himself. Before the year was out, every man in
the village had become a tease ; there was not a
person left of whom to make fun, and in the end
the wags began to laugh at themselves. That put
an end to it. Only one thing remained to do : the
village to make fun of the priest.

Two whole years passed without Trandafir being
able to stir up the people, even when he had passed
from advising them to annoying them. They
became either givers of advice or they were teasers :
all day they stood in groups, some of them giving
advice, others joking. It was a wonderful affair ;
the people recognized the right, despised the bad ;
but nothing altered them.

"Eh ! say now, didn't Father Trandafir mind ?
Didn't he get angry, very angry ? "

He did get wild. He began to abuse the
people. As he had proceeded to advise them, and
to chaff them, so now he proceeded to abuse them.

1 88 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Whenever he got hold of a man, he abused him.
But he did not get far with this. At first the people
allowed themselves to be insulted. Later on, they
began to answer back, on the sly, as it were.
Finally, thinking it was going too far, they began
to abuse the priest.

From now on, things got a little involved.
Everything went criss-cross. The people began to
tell the priest that if he did not leave off" laughing
at them, and insulting them, they would go to the
bishop and get him removed from the village.
That is what the priest deserved. The people had
hit on the very thing ! Throw him out of
Saraceni ! The priest began to curse in earnest.
Off he went ; the people got in to their carts to
go to the archdeacon, and from the archdeacon to
the bishop.

In the Book of Wisdom, concerning the life of
this world, there is a short sentence which says :
our well-wishers are often our undoing and our
evil-wishers are useful to us. Father Trandafir
was not lucky in getting good out of his evil-
wishers. The bishop was a good soul, worthy of
being put in all the calendars all over the face of the
earth. He took pity on the poor priest, said he was
in the right, and scolded the people.

And so Popa Tanda stayed in Saraceni.

Misfortunes generally heap themselves upon man-
kind. One gives rise to another, or are they,

POPA TANDA 189

perhaps, inseparable ? Anyhow, they are always
like light and shade, one alongside the other.

By now Father Trandafir had three children.
When he returned from the bishop, he found his
wife in bed. There was a fourth little blessing in
the house. A sick wife, three little children, a
fourth at the breast, and a tumble-down house ; the
snow drifted through the walls, the stove smoked,
the wind came through the roof, the granary was
bare, his purse empty, and his heart heavy.

Father Trandafir was not the man to find a way
out of this embarrassing state of things. Had it
been some one else in his situation, he could have
helped him : he could not comfort himself. For a
long time he stood in the dim light of the little
lamp ; every one around him slept. The sick
woman was asleep. Now there is nothing more
conducive to melancholy than the sight of people
asleep. He loved those sleeping forms ; he loved
them and was responsible for their happiness ; he
lived for them, and their love made life precious to
him. Thoughts crowded into his brain. His mind
turned to the past and to the future ; considering
the state in which he found himself, the future
could only appear depicted in the saddest colours.
His children ! His wife ! What would become of
them ? His heart was heavy, and he could not find
one consoling thought, one single loop-hole of
escape ; nowhere in the world was there anything
to give him a gleam of hope.

i9o ROUMANIAN STORIES

The next day was Sunday. The Father went to
church with bowed head, to read Matins.

Like the generality of mankind, Father Trandafir
had never given much thought to what he was doing.
He was a priest, and he was content with his lot.
He liked to sing, to read the Gospel, to instruct the
faithful, to comfort, and to give spiritual assistance
to the erring. His thoughts did not go much
beyond that. Had he been asked at any time
whether he realized the sanctity, the inner meaning
of his calling, maybe he would have laughed to him-
self at all those things which a man only grasps in
moments of intense suffering. It is man's nature
when his mind comprehends a series of more or less
deep thoughts, to measure the whole world by this
standard, and not to believe what he does not under-
stand. But man does not always think in this way.
There are events during which his brain becomes
inactive : in danger, when no escape seems possible ;
in moments of joy, when he knows not from what
source his happiness is derived ; at times when his
train of thought seems to have lost all coherence.
Then, when man has reached, in any way, the point
where the possible becomes indistinguishable from
the impossible, he ceases to reason, instinct asserts
itself.

Father Trandafir went into the church. How
many times had he not entered that church ! Just
as a blacksmith might enter his forge. But this
time he was seized with an incomprehensible fear, he

POP A TANDA 191

took a few steps forward and then hid his face in his
hands and began to sob bitterly. Why did he cry ?
Before whom did he cry ? His lips uttered these
words only : " Almighty God, succour me ! "
Did he believe that this prayer, expressed with all
the energy of despair, could bring him help ? He
believed nothing ; he thought of nothing ; he was in
a state of exaltation.

The Holy Scriptures teach us that just as the
ploughman lives on the fruit of his toil, so does the
spiritual pastor, who serves the altar, live by the
result of his service at that altar. Father Trandafir
always believed in the Holy Scriptures ; he always
worked only for the spiritual welfare of his people,
and expected that they, in return, would furnish
him with his daily bread. But the world is not
always in agreement with what is written and com-
manded ; only the priest agreed with it, the people
did not. The Father got little from his office, any-
how not enough ; this is to say, four pieces of ground
near the village, a poll-tax on the population, and
baptismal and burying fees.

Taken altogether, it amounted to nothing, seeing
that the earth produced scarcely anything, the poll-tax
existed only in name, the new-born were baptized
for nothing, and the dead were buried gratis by the
priest.

Near the church was a deserted house ; a house
in name only. The owner of the house could have

1 92 ROUMANIAN STORIES

kept cattle, but he had no beasts. By the side of
the house there was room for a garden, but there
was no garden because, as we have already said,
there were no fences in Saraceni. Father Trandafir
bought the whole place and lived in it. As the
house belonged to the priest, nothing much was
done to put it in order, and it was quite dilapidated,
the walls had holes in them, there were rents in the
roof. The Father only troubled himself about other
people's houses.

The priest's table was no better than the house.
According to the old saying, man follows the ways of
other men even when he wants to make them follow
his own : the priest lived like the rest of the village.
Happily he had his wife's dowry, but often one does
not try to get help from just the place where it is to
be had. The season of Lent drew near.

" It will not do ! " said Father Trandafir.
" This will not do ! " And he began to do as the
rest of the world does, to occupy himself first and
foremost with the care of his own house.

Directly the spring-time came, he hired a gipsy,
and set him to work to plaster the house with clay.
In a few days all four walls were firmly plastered.
After that, the priest enjoyed sitting outside more
than inside the house, because you could not see the
walls of the house so well from within ; a plastered
house was a fine thing in Saraceni, especially when
one could say to oneself, " That is mine ! " There
was one thing, though, which was not as it should

POPA TANDA 193

be. Every time the Father's eyes fell upon the
sides of the roof he went indoors — he felt he had
seen enough. He did not want to see the defective
roof, but every time he wanted to look at the walls
he had to see the roof. That damned roof ! It
could no longer be left like that.

Down in the valley where there are numerous
pools, not only willows and osiers grew, but here
and there were to be found sedges and rushes, cat's-
tail and a species of reed. " That is what I will
do ! " thought the priest. He engaged a man, and
sent him out to cut sedges and rushes and cat's-tail
and reeds. One Saturday the house was surrounded
by bundles tied with osiers ; and the following
Saturday the roof was mended and edged on the top
with bundles of reeds over which were stretched two
strips of wood fastened with cross pieces. The work
was good, and not dear. People passed by the
priest's house nodding their heads and saying, " The
priest is one of the devil's own men." Now the
priest could stay happily outside.

But this happiness did not last long. There
was still one thing that was not quite right. The
priest felt that he was too much in the open. There
was no other house in the village like his, and it
would have been better a little separated from the
village. The Father hardly liked to say " At my
place," when " my place " was " in the village."
There must be a fence, and a gate for the people to
enter by, when they came to see the priest ; it might

o

194 ROUMANIAN STORIES

be a fence in name only, and the gate only a hurdle,
but it must be an understood thing that before
anyone could enter the priest's house he must cross
the priest's yard. Once more the priest hired a man
and sent him to cut briars and stakes. He fixed the
stakes into the ground, and placed the briars between
them, and there was the fence, ready made. In front
of the house, in the direction of the church, about
half an acre of ground was enclosed : the gate was
formed by four poles fastened by two others placed
crosswise. The priest's wife especially rejoiced at
being thus shut in, and the priest rejoiced when he
saw his wife's pleasure. There was not a day on
which either the priest or his wife did not say to the
children : " Listen ! you are not to go outside the
yard ; play quietly at home."

Once a man starts, he never gets to the end.
One desire gives rise to another. Now the priest's
wife got an idea in her head.

" Do you know, Father," she said one morning,
"I think it would be a good plan to make a few
beds for vegetables by the side of the fence."

" Vegetable-beds ? "

" Yes ; we can sow onions, carrots, haricot beans,
potatoes, and cabbages."

The Father was astonished. To him that
seemed quite beyond their powers. Vegetable-beds
in Saraceni !

For a few days his head was full of vegetable-
beds, of potatoes, cabbages, and haricot beans ; and

POPA TANDA 195

a few days after that, the ground was already dug
up and the beds were ready. Not a day passed on
which the priest and his wife did not go about ten
times to the beds to see if the seeds were growing.
Great was the joy one day. The priest had risen
very early.

" Wife, get up ! "

" What's the matter ? "

"They have sprouted."

The priest and his wife and all the children
spent the whole day squatting by the beds. The
more seeds they saw appear above the ground, the
happier they were.

And again the villagers passed by the priest's
house and looked through the thorns at the priest's
vegetable-beds, and they said once more, "The
priest is one of the devil's own men ! "

" Listen, wife," said the priest. " Wouldn't it
be a good plan to sow maize along the fence and
round the beds ? "

" Indeed it would ! I like fresh maize I "

" So do I, especially when it's roasted on the
embers ! "

Here was a new task ! The priest surrounded
himself with maize. He laughed with pleasure
when he thought how pretty it would be when the
maize grew up all round and shut out the briars on
the fence which had begun to offend his eyes. But
there is the old proverb, " Much wants more." At
the back of the house was another strip of ground,

196 ROUMANIAN STORIES

about four times the size of the bit they had culti-
vated. The priest could not get it out of his head.
Why should this land lie fallow ? Couldn't he
plant maize at the back of the house too ? In the
fields opposite, men were ploughing and sowing,
the ground was untouched still in the village because
it was the village.

Marcu Flori Cucu, the priest's neighbour, had
a plough ; it was rather dilapidated, but it was a
plough, and Mitru Catamush, Marcu's neighbour,
had two feeble oxen and a foundered horse. The
priest, Marcu, Mitru, the oxen and the horse,
worked all one day from morn till eve. The
ground was ploughed up and sown with maize.
From thenceforward, the priest was happier when
he was at the back of the house.

It was a wonderful and beautiful bit of work —
what furrows ! And here and there among the
furrows a blade of maize peeped out. In spite of
this, the priest scratched himself once or twice, and
then fairly often, behind the ear. It seemed as
though something still weighed upon his mind. It
was a difficult matter, which he hardly dare take
in hand : the glebe lands. Up to now, they had
been neglected ; at present, he did not know what
to do with them. He would have liked to work
them himself. He would have liked to see his
own men sowing them ; he would have liked
to take his wife there in the autumn. It was
very tempting. He talked a great deal to his wife

POP A TANDA 197

about the matter. They would need horses, a cart,
a plough, a labourer, stables — they would want a
quantity of things. Moreover, the priest did not
understand agriculture.

However, the vegetable-beds were growing green,
the maize was springing up. The priest made up
his mind ; he took the residue of his wife's dowry
and set to work. Marcu's plough was good enough
to start with. The priest bought one horse from
Mitru ; a man in the Rapitza Valley had another
one ; Stan Schiopu had a cart with three wheels.
The priest bought it as he got a wheel from Mitru,
to make up for the horse being foundered.

Cozonac, the bell-ringer, engaged himself as
labourer to the priest, for his house was only a
stone's throw away. The priest drove four posts
into the ground at one end of the house, two long
ones and two short, and he made three sides of
plaited osiers and a roof of rushes, and there was
the stable all ready.

During these days, Father' Trandafir had aged
by about ten years ; but he grew young again when
he placed his wife and children in the cart, whipped
up the horses, and drove off to see their ploughed
land.

The villagers saw him, and shook their heads,
and said once more : " The priest is the devil's own
man."

The priest's wife had her own feminine worries.
She had a beautiful Icon which had been given to

rp8 ROUMANIAN STORIES

her by the son of the priest at Vezura. At present
the Icon was lying at the bottom of a box wrapped
up in paper. For a long time she had wished to
place it between the windows, to put flowers and
sweet basil round it, and look at it often ; because
this Icon represented the Holy Virgin, and the
priest's daughter was called Mary. But the walls
were dirty and the Icon had no case. There was
another thing that annoyed the priest's wife : one
window was filled in with a pig's bladder, and in
the other were three broken panes mended with
paper. The house was rather dark.

Easter drew near. There were only five days to
Holy Week. If the priest wanted to spend Easter
with his wife, he had still three important things
to get : whitewash for the walls, windows for the
house, and a case for the Icon of the most Blessed
Virgin — all objects that could be found only in a
town.

To the market, then !

The priest had horses and a cart. He was
vexed about the osier baskets for the maize ; only
the backs and sides of them still remained. He was
ashamed that a priest like himself should have to go
to the market without any maize-baskets. He
could not borrow any, seeing he was at Saraceni,
where even the priest had no proper maize-baskets.

They say " Necessity is the best teacher." The
Father sent Cozonac down the valley to fetch osiers,
planted two stakes in the ground with thinner sticks

POPA TANDA 199

set between them about a hand's breadth apart, and
then the priest and his wife and children, and
Cozonac too, began to plait the osiers in. Before
long the baskets were ready. The work was not
very remarkable, but for all that they were the best
baskets in Saraceni, and so good that Cozonac could
not refrain from saying, " The priest is one of the
devil's own men 1 "

To the market-place and from the market-place
home the Father went proudly with his baskets ;
other people had some, but he found people could
buy worse baskets than those he had made himself.

" What is the priest making ? "

" Baskets for the maize."

" But he has got some."

" He is making them for those who have not
got any."

After Easter, Cozonac began to clear the pools
of osiers which the priest wove into baskets. The
longer the work continued, the better was it done ;
the last basket was always the best.

Marcu Flori Cucu was a sensible man. He
liked to stay and talk to the priest. Cozonac
cleared the osiers, the priest plaited them, while
Marcu lay upon his stomach with his head in his
hands and idly watched.

" This osier is a little too long," said the priest,
measuring the osier with his eye. " Here, Marcu !
Give me the hatchet to make it shorter."

The hatchet was at Marcu's feet. Marcu raised

200 ROUMANIAN STORIES

the upper part of his body, supported himself on his
elbows, stretched out his legs, and began feeling
about for the hatchet, trying to draw it up by
his feet.

" Make haste ! " said the priest, and gave him
a cut with the osier.

Marcu jumped up and assured the priest that he
was much more nimble than he thought. In the
end, this assurance was of great use to him. By
Whitsuntide the priest had a cart-load of baskets
ready to take to the market, and Marcu knew very
well that if the priest sold the baskets he would
have a cheerful holiday.

The priest had had help for some weeks, and
the help had always brought a reward to the man
who had given it.

Just before Whitsuntide the rain began, and
seemed as though it would never cease.

" I do not know what I shall do," said the priest.
" It seems as though I must leave the market until
after Whitsuntide. I do not like going in the rain.
If it does not stop raining by Thursday, I just shall
not go."

Marcu 'scratched himself behind his ears and
said nothing. He could see that it did not suit the
priest to get soaked.

" Here," he said a little later, ceasing to plait,
" couldn't we weave an awning ? There are reeds
and rushes and osiers in the valley."

"Perhaps you are right," replied the priest.

POPA TANDA 201

"It could be made the same way as we are making
these."

Through helping him, Marcu had learnt to make
better baskets than the priest. The awning did
Marcu great credit, the priest did not get wet and
came back from the market with a full purse.

This time Whit-Sunday was fine. The priest's
wife had a new gown, the three eldest children had
dolls bought in the town ; the tiny one, Mary, had
a straw hat with two pink flowers, the walls were
white both inside and out, the windows were whole,
the house was light, and the Icon of the Holy
Virgin could be seen very well placed high up
between the windows, decorated with flowers grown
along the edge of the vegetable-beds. The priest
had brought white flour, meat, butter, and even
sugar, from the town. The priest loved his wife,
but it was not his way to kiss her at odd times.
But, this morning, the first thing he did was to
embrace her. His wife began to cry — I don't know
why — when Father Trandafir entered the church he
felt inclined to cry ; he had seen people in front of
the Icon and there were tears in his eyes when he
went up to the altar. The people say he had never
sung more beautifully than he did that day. The
saying remained : "To sing like the priest at
Whitsuntide ! "

The parishioners went to see the priest ; they
passed through the gate before they crossed the
door-step ; they wiped their boots, put their hats

202 ROUMANIAN STORIES

on their sticks, leaned their sticks against the
wall, smoothed their moustaches and their beards,
and stepped inside. When they came out of the
house again, they took a look round, nodded their
heads, and said nothing.

• • • • •

The years come, the years go ; the world moves
on, and man is sometimes at peace with the world,
and sometimes at odds with it. The high road
passed through the town, passed by the Dry Valley
and ran farther on to the Rapitza Valley. Where
the roads met, at the conjunction of the two valleys,
there was a mill on the Rapitza. Near Rapitza was
a cross ; close to the cross was a fountain, and by
the fountain were eight fine sycamores. This spot
was called " The Cross of Saraceni." From here to
Saraceni was only about an hour by road. In spite
of this, whenever he came from the town, the man
of Saraceni pulled up here to water his horse, and
waited a while, hoping that some wayfarer might
come and ask : " What village is that where one
sees that beautiful church with white walls and the
glittering tower ? " And when he is asked, he
strokes his moustache, and looking proudly towards
the place replies : " Up there on the Grofnitza ?
That's our village — Saraceni ; but you ought to
hear the bells — what bells that tower contains !
One can hear them a three hours' journey away ! "

Where the road divided there stood a sign-post
with two arms ; on one arm was written, " To the

POPA TANDA 203

Rapitza Valley," and on the other one, " Towards
the Dry Valley." There was no road anywhere
round about like the one that ran through the Dry
Valley towards Saraceni.

It was as smooth as a table, and as solid as a
cherry-stone. One could see the Saracenese had
constructed it lovingly. To right and left, at
intervals of ten to fifteen paces, were some shady
nut-trees which were a pleasure to look at. The
river-bed lay on the right ; the road ran along its
bank, but higher up, so that the water could not
disturb it. The Saracenese had to destroy rock in
their progress, but that they did cheerfully, for
out of the rock they built the road.

From here on, the Saracene felt at home, and
drove at a foot's pace. But he was not bored for a
second. At every step almost he met an acquaint-
ance with whom he exchanged words, " Where do
you come from ? " and " Where are you going ? "
One man had a cart full of lime, another a load of
apples ; then came a man carrying a trellis-work,
and another with a wheelbarrow, a stave, or some
other article made of wood.

From time to time, along the side of the road,
one found the stone-masons at work, their trowels
ringing from daybreak till sunset. This road was
not a dreary one !

There were lime-kilns where the road ran
along the valley. In one place there was a whole
village. Some men were loading up lime, others

204 ROUMANIAN STORIES

unloading stone and wood ; the masons were shaping
the stones, the men at the kilns were throwing wood
on to the fires ; the foremen were making noise
enough for five.

From this point one could see the village well.
The gardens were full of trees ; only between the
bushes or beyond the trees did one catch a glimpse
here and there of a bit of the walls or the roofs of
the houses. The priest's house was just up by the
church ; one could only see five windows and a red
roof with two chimney stacks. Opposite the church
stood the school. The house, of which one could
only see a piece of wall with two windows and a
roof, belonged to Marcu Flori Cucu.

The big building visible lower down was the
Town Hall. If the houses had lain less closely
together the village would have looked very beautiful,
but, as it was, one only caught a glimpse and must
imagine the rest.

Every one had changed ; Father Trandafir only
had remained the same : fresh, gay, and busy.
If his grey hair and grizzled beard had not betrayed
his age, we might have thought that the little
children with whom he played in the evening, on
the seat in front of the house, were his own. One
of them, whom he had lifted up to kiss, stole his
hat from off his head and ran away with it. Mariuca
opened the window and called out :

" My little Trandafir, don't leave grandfather
bareheaded."

POPA TANDA 205

Then she flew from the window to catch Ileana,
who had stolen her grandmother's bonnet and
adorned herself with it, and was now proudly
showing herself to her grandfather. The old
grandfather laughed heartily, he loved a joke.
From close by came Father Costa, and caught first
Ileana and then Mariuca, kissed them, and then
seated himself by his father-in-law's side. Marcu,
neighbour and old friend, Mariuca's father-in-law,
and attached to the house, saw the group and came
to join in the conversation.

" Old man, take your hat ; you must not sit
there bare-headed," said the grandmother, handing
his hat through the window.

One of the villagers, in passing, wished him
"Good night," and added to himself, "May the
Lord preserve him for many years, for he is one of
God's own men."

OUT IN THE WORLD

BY ION POPOVICI-BANATZEANU

r I ^HE man tramping along the broad, dusty

highway gradually drew near to a town.

-*• He carried a bundle on his back — some old

clothes, a change of underlinen and a pair of boots —

and at his breast, wrapped up in a handkerchief,

were his certificate of baptism, his work-book and

his book of military service — all his worldly goods.

For three years he had served the Emperor, and
failing to find employment in the town where he
was, with a stick in his hand and a few coppers in
his pocket he had set out into the world, and walked
with the steadiness of a man well acquainted with
the road.

Some one had advised him to go to Lugosh ;
he had heard there were many craftsmen there
driving a big trade, and he pursued his way with
hope in his heart. He felt strong and eager to
work. For three years he had not seen a workshop,
for three years he had not followed the craft which
he had learnt so lovingly ; it seemed to him he
would hardly know how to handle a hide now. Yet

207

208 ROUMANIAN STORIES

with each step forward his confidence in himself
increased, and he thought, " I will work, and work
so that every one wonders, and the peasant who
takes in his hand the sandals I have tanned will
never want to part with them." And when he said
this to himself he walked faster. He would have
liked to fly that he might arrive quicker. But then
again he slackened his pace, and other thoughts
assailed him : supposing he did not get a situation,
what would he do then ?

" Supposing I do not find work ? "

He was afraid to answer this or to think of
what he would do if he did not get a place. Ah,
just to find work with somebody. He comforted
himself, and putting away from him all sad thoughts
he imagined a rosy future. He saw himself in the
workshop doing the work of seven, and saving
penny after penny ; he saw himself buying first one
skin, then two, then three, six and more, and many
more, until he had a workshop of his own, and
then, if he met a girl he liked, he would marry.

He was intoxicated by his own thoughts, and
hardly knew where he was going. He walked
slowly with his head bent. He would not rest, for
he felt no fatigue ; it was as though some one urged
him forward.

It was late autumn, the fields were bare and the
road dreary. Buffeted by the wind, the poplars
along the side of the road were shedding their
leaves, and sadly swaying their pointed tops.

OUT IN THE WORLD 209

The country lay barren and dead, while the
voiceless hills were glowing in the light of the
setting sun like a man who, on the point of death,
tries to save himself by some final remedy. The
outlines of solitary fountains prolonged themselves
mournfully against the horizon, as though they
regretted the life and gaiety of other days. A flight
of crows, frightened by I know not what, rose from
the dark marshes and alighted upon the tops of the
poplars, beating their wings and cawing above the
waste.

But Sandu saw and heard nothing ; he walked
absorbed in himself and communing with his own
heart.

He entered the town as the lights were being
lit. He took no side turnings but kept to the
main street so that the dogs should not hinder
him.

"Keep straight on," he said to himself, "past
the Roumanian church, then I take the turning to
the right till I get to the bridge and at the bridge I
must ask my way."

And at the bridge he asked his way, but they
explained it in such a manner that he lost himself,
and it was late before he reached the hostel. He
bade good evening and asked rather diffidently
whether there were anywhere he could sleep, and if
there were something to eat.

The innkeeper entered into conversation with
him, and learnt that Sandu came from the Dobre

p

210 ROUMANIAN STORIES

district, had done three years' military service, and
now was looking for a situation with some tanner.

" I have come," Sandu spoke with difficulty,
" to see if I can find a place here, for you see

" Who knows, perhaps you may," the inn-
keeper interrupted him, and went out of the room.

" Should you say I shall find a place ? " Sandu
asked the innkeeper as he brought him some lard
and a piece of bread.

" Oh, you may find one if you are good at your
trade and hard-working."

Sandu said nothing ; the only word he could
have uttered would have been to say, as he could
have said, how hard he meant to work, and what
kind of a man he was. But as he could not say this
to the innkeeper he told himself what a lot of work
he meant to do, and how well he meant to behave
himself, as well as if he were a young girl.

Absorbed in thought, he ate at long intervals,
and the innkeeper, seeing how silent he was, bade
him put out the lamp and wished him a good
night.

But the night was not restful. He crossed him-
self and stretched himself out on the bench by the
side of the wall, his bundle he placed at his head
and carefully pushed his money and his papers
underneath it. Although he was tired from his
tramp, sleep would not visit his eyes. He grew
excited, a sort of giddiness overcame him, and he
broke into a cold sweat at his own thoughts. He

OUT IN THE WORLD 211

tossed and turned on the narrow bench, and pressed
his forehead against the cold wall as he sighed
heavily.

When the day broke he was exhausted, his
bones seemed weak, his feet could hardly support
him, and his head felt queer. Water, and the fresh-
ness of the early morning, revived him, and he made
his way to the market-place where, according to the
innkeeper, he would find the booths of the master-
tanners.

Although it was autumn, people were in no
hurry to buy sandals, and only a few of the master-
tanners, who did business here on Sundays, were
walking about and moving their strips of leather
according to the position of the sun so as to ensure
them being in the shade.

Sandu stood still by the cross in the market-
place, and it seemed as if a knife went through his
heart ; when he saw the empty booths he felt as
though his last atom of will had been destroyed.
He felt as though he must turn back, as though he
could not ask. It seemed to him as though he had
not the strength to bear hearing one of the tanners
tell him he had no place for him ; it would be such
a catastrophe that he would sink into the earth.

Not knowing what he did he moved forward ;
but when he approached the first booth he lost
confidence, and had not the courage to greet the
master.

He passed on. He walked round the booths

212 ROUMANIAN STORIES

two or three times, but could not summon up
courage to ask whether one of the tanners had a
situation open or not.

" Now I will go," he said very firmly to him-
self, to give himself strength, but when he moved
he saw a peasant go up to the booth. " I will let
him make his purchase and then I will go."

But he did not stir, he was afraid, especially
when the master, not being able to come to terms
with the peasant, undid the box, and flung the
sandals violently into it. He did nothing ; it
seemed terrible to him to have to go up to the
booth. He did not know why. He felt angry
with himself that it should be so. And as he asked
himself why he was like this, he recalled to mind
various acquaintances who were so Very bold and
fearless. If only he could be like that ! But he
could not be so, his nature did not allow it.

" Now you good-for-nothing, you are wander-
ing about here like a sheep in a pen," a tanner,
small of stature, with brown eyes and a harsh voice,
said roughly to him.

".I ? " stammered Sandu. " I am not a good-
for-nothing."

" No ? Then why do you keep coming round ?
Haven't I seen you ? You walk a bit, you stand
still, you have been round us several times, and now
you are standing still again ; it is as though you had
some evil intention ! "

" Master, I am not "

OUT IN THE WORLD 213

" Go, whatever you are or are not, else you will
see I will get rid of you."

Sandu could hardly stand, a sort of mist dark-
ened his eyes, and his heart was bursting. He
would have cried, but he was ashamed for a grown
man to be walking across the market-place with
tears in his eyes. He suffered and would gladly
have told how deeply the words he had listened to
had hurt him, but he had no one to whom he could
open his heart.

He returned to the innkeeper with whom he was
lodging. Tired and spent he threw himself on the
bench.

" What is it ? " asked the innkeeper.

Sandu looked vaguely at him, then, as if afraid
to hear the sound of his own voice, he said :

« Nothing."

The innkeeper felt sorry for him.

" Have you found a situation ? "

" I did not ask for one."

" Then how can you hope to get one ? "

Sandu remained silent. The innkeeper looked
strangely at him, shrugged his shoulders, shook his
head, and went to attend to his duties.

With his elbows on the table, and his head resting
in his hands, Sandu gazed in front of him, and who
knows where his thoughts would have led him if
the innkeeper had not said to him :

" Listen, Dinu Talpoane sent to ask whether
there was any workman in need of work. Go with

2i4 ROUMANIAN STORIES

the apprentice and he may perhaps engage you. He
is a respectable man and does a big trade."

Without a word Sandu got up. It seemed to
him he must be dreaming. But when he saw the
apprentice with an apron stained yellow and with big
boots covered with stale sap, his eyes shone, and he
could have kissed the innkeeper's hands for very joy.

Outside he began to talk to the apprentice, who
told him that the master was a splendid man, but his
wife was harsh and heaven defend you from her
tongue ; that the workshop was large and the work
considerable, especially in the autumn ; and that the
master sometimes engaged workmen by the day in
order to get a set of hides ready more quickly ; and
many other things he told him. But Sandu was no
longer listening.

When the apprentice saw that he asked no
further questions, he hesitated to say more, and they
walked along together in silence.

Sandu knew where he had to go, but he did not
know what to say, or what terms to make — by the
year, the month, the week ; he could not think what
would be best to do. What he knew of the work-
shop of the master-tanner with whom he had learnt
his trade, and all he had heard from the hands
working there with him, seemed to be buzzing in
his brain until he grew so bewildered that he could
not have told how many days there are in a week,
or how much money he would earn if he worked for
a whole month.

OUT IN THE WORLD 215

" Here we are," said the apprentice, stopping

c r 1 -i "

in front or a doorway with gates.

Sandu felt a cold shiver go through him. For a
second he stood still. Three years as apprentice
and four years as workman he had worked for one
master only, and he would have remained there all
his life if he had not been taken to be a soldier, and
if the master had not died he would have gone back
to him the day he left the army. He felt quite
nervous, and if the apprentice had not opened the
gate he would not have gone in.

" They are eating," said the apprentice, seeing
the big yard was empty, and he crossed to the bottom
of it where a small house stood built against the old
workshop.

They were close to the window when they heard
people talking in the house, and the clatter of
knives.

" Look here," said Sandu, " you go on and say
I have come but that I am waiting till they have
finished dinner."

The apprentice went in and told the master that
a workman was outside, but would not come in till
the master had got up from the table.

" Tell him to come into the house."

But his wife interrupted him with :

" Leave him out there. Who knows what sort
of a creature he is if he does not venture to show
his face inside ! Let me have my dinner in peace."

The husband, a well-built man, with a round,

216 ROUMANIAN STORIES

red face and kind blue eyes, felt if he said any more
his wife would snap his head off, so he let the
apprentice go.

The apprentice, who knew that one word from
the mistress was worth a hundred orders from the
master, withdrew to the hearth in the outer room,
and waited till he should be called to dinner.

" But what's the matter, Ghitza, you are not
eating ? " he heard his mistress saying. " Or are
you waiting to be invited ? Dear, dear, perhaps I
ought to beg the gentleman to come to table ! "

The apprentice, accustomed to the mistress's
ways, took a chair. But he had not swallowed three
mouthfuls before the mistress bade him call in " that
ne'er-do-well out there."

Sandu shyly wished them good day, but of all
those sitting round the table he only saw the master,
and by his side the mistress, whose eyes seemed to
scorch him and make him lose his presence of mind.

" What is your name ? " the master asked him.

" I am called Sandu Boldurean."

And in a low voice he told where he was born,
with whom he had learnt the trade, and how long he
had worked, but during the questioning he scarcely
raised his eyelids. He grew confused at once when
the mistress screamed at him :

" But you'll ruin your hat turning it round like
that in your hands. Put it down somewhere and
speak up so that a man can understand what you are
saying."

OUT IN THE WORLD 217

Sandu felt the blood go to his head, and hardly
knowing what he was doing he hung his hat on a
bolt on the door.

" And you worked only with one master ? "

" Only one. See, here is my work-book," and
with some haste he drew out the handkerchief,
unknotted it, and held out his " work-book " to the
master.

" Let me see too," said the mistress, snatching
the book from her husband's hand. " After all, it's
no wonder this idiot stayed in the same place ; and
who knows what kind of a master it was?" she
whispered to her husband.

He would have replied that it was a very good
thing for a workman to have stayed so long with
one master, for most tanners worked in the same
way, and only here and there were the hides dressed
differently ; but he was ashamed to say so before the
workman, and so he busied himself by looking
through the book.

Sandu broke mto a sweat ; when he held out the
book he felt his soul was full of joy at having got so
far, but little by little, especially when the mistress
took the book and whispered to her husband, his
heart seemed turned to ice.

What would he say to him ? Supposing he
found something bad ? Supposing he did not give
him work ? These were the questions which passed
through his mind and which he could not answer,
although he knew his book only spoke well of him, .

218 ROUMANIAN STORIES

and that the master required a workman because it
was autumn when business is in full swing.

A great burden seemed lifted from him at the
master's words :

"Good, I will engage you. How much did
you get from your late master ? "

" I worked for him for four years and had a
salary."

" What a lot of talk ! We will give you one
and a half florins per week without washing, and
you can stay, though probably in the army you
have forgotten all you knew about work," the
mistress broke into the conversation, as she rose
from the table.

It was the signal for the two workmen and the
apprentice to return to their work.

Sandu stood transfixed. Only the master and a
child of six or seven years of age remained in the
house, as the girl and the mistress went into the
passage to see to the dinner things.

" Well, do you agree ? Will you stay or
not ? " scolded the mistress as she appeared in the
doorway.

" I will stay," replied Sandu, scarcely knowing
what he said.

The master looked at her, and turned to Sandu.

" Have you had your dinner ? "

" Did he come for you to feed him," his wife
interrupted him.

" Woman, you "

OUT IN THE WORLD 219

The mistress threw him a look full of meaning,
and disappeared into the yard.

" You can start work to-morrow."

Sandu turned and went out after the master ;
they walked side by side. When they reached the
yard gate they stopped. The master would have
liked to say something about the pay. One and a
half florins a week seemed so very little to him, but
Sandu was simple and glad to get work, and he did
not ask for much.

" Master, I will go now. Good luck to you ! "

" Good luck to you ! " replied the master, and
he seemed as though he would like to call him back
and say another word to him.

In rather over a month Sandu had had time to
get back into his old ways, and to work hopefully
at his trade, but during this time he had, little by
little, come to see that in his master's house the
cock by no means ruled the roost. Sharp-tongued
and ill-tempered, Mistress Veta was often dissatisfied
with the work. Now it was because the skins had
not come out of the vat yellow enough, and had not
enough creases ; now it was because a range of
skins needed mending as the workmen had not
been sufficiently careful ; and so on and so on,
always hard words for the workmen who worked
eagerly and with all their might that the skins might
be well tanned, and the mistress have no chance to
grumble.

At first Sandu found these abusive words hard

220 ROUMANIAN STORIES

to bear, and all day long the thought worried him
that the mistress only spoke so to him, and that it
was with him only that she was dissatisfied. At
one time even he was seized with the desire to go
away so that he might hear her no longer, and
the other men might not be worried on his account,
for he said to himself that only since he entered the
workshop had the work gone so badly, and the
mistress's tongue chided so unceasingly.

But, all unperceived by himself, he grew some-
what accustomed to the ways of the house, and
when a workman told him that the mistress had
always been just the same, and that no matter how
well the hides were dressed she always found some
fault, he took heart and dismissed the idea of
quitting the workshop of Talpoane, the master-
tanner.

He was up almost before daylight, and never let
his work out of his hand till it was dinner-time.
He washed his hands clean, and took his usual place
at his employers' table— for from olden times it
had been the custom for the masters not to keep
aloof from the workmen or to dine apart.

Silent at his work, he was, also, silent at meals.
Only when he was spoken to did Sandu reply,
gently and with dignity. The other men talked
and laughed, and when they realized that it pleased
the mistress to make fun of Sandu they began to
crack every kind of joke at his expense.

At first Sandu opened his eyes wide. He

OUT IN THE WORLD 221

looked at them and could not understand them, but
when he took it in he, too, laughed with them, a
laugh full of kindness and friendliness. He lived
on good terms with the workmen ; only one of them,
lotza, embittered the days. He only had to say :
" You have made the solution too weak," for Sandu,
although he knew it was not true, to be unhappy
all the week, and often his heart was full of fear
that the skins would not come out yellow enough
or creased enough to please the mistress.

But he felt comforted when he noticed that,
when he came into the workshop, Master Dinu
asked only him how many hides were being worked,
and when they would be ready, for at such and such
a fair he would need so many, because a customer
was trying to get in touch with him.

" They'll be ready when they are wanted ; don't
worry," Sandu would reply.

And away Master Dinu would go, quite content,
and quite sure that the hides would be ready when
they were wanted for the fair, or had to be despatched
to some customer.

He saw that everything went very well since
Sandu entered the workshop. The skins were kept
in the pits just long enough for the hair to come off
easily and not burn in the lime ; the solution was
boiled enough, not too hot and not too strong ; the
poles were in their places ; the stretching-pegs were
in a neat pile, and the workshop was cleaner than it
had ever been before.

222 ROUMANIAN STORIES

And Master Dinu knew the value of a good
workman in a place where there were many workers,
and where work was plentiful.

" There is only one thing he lacks," he said to
himself, " he would be a man in a thousand, but he
is too diffident."

But, even in spite of his diffidence, he thought
so highly of him that had he asked for four florins
a week he would gladly have given it sooner than
let him go away.

So he said to himself, but Sandu did not dream
of asking for much more than he had. All his life
he had worked for the same wage.

It is true that had he done as the others did, and
drawn out money every Sunday, he might, perhaps,
have felt it was hard to see Master Dinu paying out
a great deal more to the others than to him, but he
did not ask for his money. On one occasion only
did he draw two florins from his pay, and that was
because, on a certain Tuesday, his mother had sent
greetings to him and had asked him if possible to
send her a little help.

Sandu ran off at once to the market-place to
find Master Dinu to ask for all the money he was
entitled to for his work, that he might send it to
his mother. Master Dinu, not knowing what he
wanted it for, nor how much he needed, asked
whether two florins would be enough.

" Yes," he said, and with the coins in his
hand he went to the man from his village. He

OUT IN THE WORLD 223

wrapped up the money and begged him to lose no
time in giving it to his mother and in telling her
how much he longed for her, and that, perhaps, she
might come to him, for he was working for a good
master, and up to now he had not been idle for a
single day.

A fortnight passed and he received no tidings of
his mother. But on Tuesday, the day of the weekly
fair, while he was spreading out the skins, the man
came to tell him he had given the money and had
brought a letter written by " Peter the Chinaman."

Sandu took the letter and would have liked to
open it, but he caught the mistress's eye and
involuntarily thrust it into his breast.

" Look at him," she cried, " we are longing to
finish the work quickly, and he thinks only of
reading lines from his sweetheart."

" I have no sweetheart," repiled Sandu gently.

" Who writes to you then ? "

" My mother."

" Your mother ? She can't know how to use a
pen. Did you ever hear such a lie "

« I do not lie."

" Not lie ? Hold your tongue ! As if your

mother knows how to write " And she looked

rather sulkily at Sandu, who moved on to the other
pile of stretching-pegs.

At this moment one of the workmen told her
that the letter really was from his mother, but that
it was written by a Chinaman in the village.

224 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Then why didn't he tell me ? " she cried.
" Am I supposed to know everything ? " Sandu
turned round. " But can you read ?"

" Yes, mistress, 1 can."

" It's a good thing you can."

The mistress went away and the men were busy
with their work till dinner-time.

Sandu lingered over his letter. When he went
indoors the mistress could not resist having one or
two hits at him. But Sandu scarcely understood
her ; his mother thanked him with all her heart,
and he was so full of joy that even had the mistress
struck him he would have felt nothing of it. He
ate of the food, but he could not have told if he
were satisfied or hungry when he got up from the
table, and he worked like a nigger till the evening.

In bed, with his hands beneath his head, many
thoughts crossed his mind. Three years had passed
since last he saw his mother. He had often longed
for her when he was in the army, but only from time
to time had he received news of her. He had left
her old and poor.

" And longing for me will have aged her a great
deal more," he said to himself, and his heart was
heavy when he thought he could not go to see her.
" How good it would be if I could go and see her
at Christmas ! In the meantime I must send more
money to give her pleasure and console her."

And he fancied how she would cry with joy
when she got the money, and how she would pray

OUT IN THE WORLD 225

God to lengthen his life and give him success and
happiness.

And he seemed to feel himself close to her, and
he seemed to hear the whisper of sweet comforting
words.

Wrapped in such thoughts as these he fell
asleep.

The next day God sent glorious weather, and
Sandu beat the skins carefully and often that they
might dry quickly.

But no matter what trouble he and the other
men took, the skins would not dry, and Master
Dinu could not begin the cutting out till next day ;
the cutting out and trimming goes quickly when
one has everything close at hand, and some one to
help one, and Master Dinu began to cut out and to
trim. But the damping, oiling, thickening and
sewing of the sandals and straps was difficult and
tedious.

There being great need of haste, Master Dinu
told his wife to call Ana, their daughter, that she
might help to damp the sandals.

The mistress, who was holding the skins to
make it easier for Dinu to cut out the straps, and
trim them after cutting out, put her hands on her
hips and looked at her husband.

" What, my Ana damp the sandals ? "

At his wife's words Master Dinu stayed the
knife in the middle of the skin.

" She is not a smart lady, is she, and you are

Q

226 ROUMANIAN STORIES

not going to marry her to some grandee ? There
is no disgrace to her in coming to give a little help."

His wife lost her temper. Her daughter damp
sandals ! Her daughter associate with the men !
Her daughter, who had gone to school to the nuns
for so many years ! Her daughter, who knew how
to sew so beautifully ! Her daughter, who was
friends with the niece of one important person, and
the inseparable companion of the daughters of
another ! Her daughter to handle the sandals and
make her fingers smell of bark !

" You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she
said, hoarse with anger, " even if you do not know
how to behave properly, you need not insult your
daughter."

" Insult ? " questioned Master Dinu.

But his wife rushed from the room.

He looked long after her, then glanced at the
workmen, took up the knife with a nervous move-
ment, and began quickly to cut out the sandals.

The workmen, who had heard the words ex-
changed, and seen the abrupt departure of the
mistress, kept complete silence and busied them-
selves with their work.

Master Dinu finished cutting the skins.

u You might hurry yourselves a little when you
know the work ought to be ready," he said to the
men, and departed, hanging his head.

" Very unhappy is Master Dinu," said lotza,
looking after him.

OUT IN THE WORLD 227

" Why ? " one of them asked him.

" Why ? Because those are the sharpest words
I have ever heard coming from his mouth."

Dinner was unusually quiet, only the little boy
whined and asked for first one thing and then
another. His mother gave him one or two raps
over the knuckles to make him sit still and be
silent, but the child began to cry, and she angrily
sent him into the next room.

Master Dinu said never a word and his daughter,
Ana, looked round her in a frightened manner,
and would like to have asked what had happened
to-day to make them all so downcast.

Sandu had seen her many times, but he had
never seen her well. He knew she was the master's
daughter. He greeted her when she came to the
table, but speak to her or look her really in the face,
that, up till to-day, he had never done.

But when he saw her looking sadly, now at her
father, now at her mother, and then at the others
seated round the table, he wanted to say something
to her to cheer her and make her laugh. But he
had nothing to tell her, he could not find a word,
and when their eyes met he felt as though he were
being swept away by a storm, and carried he knew
not whither.

Ana was so beautiful and so graceful. With
her white hands and her fair face one would never
have believed her to be the daughter of an artisan.
Her big blue eyes, so full of kindness, were shaded

228 ROUMANIAN STORIES

by black eyelashes, and when she laughed one's
heart glowed in the joyous sound, and one wished
one could often hear her laughing.

lotza — he had been workman with Dinu for a
long time — when the mistress was out of the house,
had more than once asked her to mend something
for him, and not infrequently she had brought him
drink from the cellar when the frost was sharp and
he had complained that he could not stand the cold.
And with all his prudence lotza had let drop a word
in the workshop in praise of Ana's kindness.

And so it came about that they all waited for the
mistress to go out that they might speak to Ana and
ask her one thing or another.

Only Sandu had never been to her. And that
was why he especially wanted now to divert her
thoughts and make her smile.

Her eyes troubled him, and he felt happier when
he found himself back in the workshop.

One day, according to the allotment of the work,
it was his duty to turn the skins in the vats full of
birch bark solution. He was alone in the workshop,
he could work in peace, but he often let the stick
fall from his hand, for, unlike other days, that day
the fumes made him perspire, and he did not notice
whether the skins were thoroughly turned. There
was one vat more to turn when the door opened
gently.

« Good luck, Sandu."

Sandu raised his head as though he were in a

OUT IN THE WORLD 229

dream, wiped away the sweat, and looked at Ana as
one looks at a person one does not the least expect
to see. He wanted to say something to her, but a
lump rose in his throat. Ana came nearer to him.

" Sandu, I came to tell you to put the sandals
in the box after you have turned the skins."

" Good," replied Sandu.

" Don't forget what Father said," and away she
went.

Outside she met lotza, and passed him in such
a hurry that she did not hear his greeting.

" Well, Sandu, what did Ana want in the work-
shop ? " he asked as he threw his apron behind a vat.

" Nothing," replied Sandu, who was disappointed
at not talking longer with Ana.

" Nothing ? Well, ' well ! Listen, have you
turned the skins ? "

" I have."

" Have you filled the boiler with water ? "

" Yes, I have."

" How much have you put ? You have not
filled it 1 Bring two more bucketfuls."

*' How can you pour two more bucketfuls in
when it does not hold more than one ? "

" It does not hold more ? I tell you plainly
you have been too lazy to bring more, and who
knows how you have turned the skins."

Sandu grew red.

" lotza, I learnt my work from the master and
not from the workman."

230 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" And what next ? "

" The next is, that I don't need your advice."

" We shall see," cried lotza, and went off.

Three days later the mistress came to the
workshop ; she walked about here and there, and
after a while she looked at the vats and took out
a skin.

" Who turned this vat ? "

" I did," replied Sandu.

" I thought as much 1 Now you — just come
and look at your work ! That's how you turned
it ; that's what the solution is like ; that's the kind
of work you get paid for ! "

Sandu went up to the vat feeling as though
he had been struck on the head. The solution was
yellow, the skins were yellow and creased as usual,
and he could not understand what fault the mistress
had to find.

" I told him so," said lotza, interfering in the
conversation ; and as he opened the door to take out
a bundle of bark, he added : " But he knows every-
thing, and doesn't need advice from anyone."

" Of course," scolded the mistress, " you did
not have time to turn the skins ; you stood talking,
and took no heed of your work. What was Ana
looking for here the day before yesterday ? "

"Ana — Ana came to tell me to put away the
sandals in the box."

"And you could not do that much without
being told ? You are the kind of man one must

OUT IN THE WORLD 231

tell everything to, otherwise there would not be
much use in your work ! "

For some time Sandu stayed alone in the work-
shop ; he felt as though he could not move. His
mistress's words rang continually in his ears, and he
felt numbed by their harshness.

The apprentice had come to call him to dinner,
but he had not gone. It seemed to him they had
all heard what the mistress said, and would have
stared at him.

lotza and the other man returned from dinner
and found him in the workshop, his hand resting on
the vat.

" Why, when you had turned the skins, didn't
you come to dinner, or have you been talking to
Ana ? " sneered lotza.

Sandu heard his voice, but he did not take in
what he said. He looked at him with great sad
eyes, and not knowing what to do went outside.

Sandu rose at daybreak the following day, but he
could not have told if he had slept, or whether his
thoughts had tormented him all night. He left the
workshop without having done anything, he went to
the pits, and took the skins out with the pincers
to try whether they were ready to dress, then he
returned to the workshop and was still quite un-
settled.

He went to dinner with the other men ; he
followed them ; had anyone asked him whither he
was going he could not have told them. They

232 ROUMANIAN STORIES

were alone, and all quite silent, and just this silence
was painful to Sandu. He would have liked to
hear conversation, a great deal of talking. They
were about to rise from the table when the mistress
arrived. Everything seemed to turn black before
Sandu's eyes.

After exchanging a few words, lotza said :

" Mistress, you better let me turn the skins in
those two vats "

"Yes, you turn them, just like Sandu did."

The blood rushed to his head as Sandu dropped
his knife and spilt a piece of lard upon the table.

"Do you think I shall pity you because you
don't eat ? You have not turned them well, and
that's all. I didn't begin to keep a workshop to-
day or yesterday."

" Mistress "

<c Oh, it's always mistress, mistress 1 Do your
work properly, and don't let your thoughts go
wandering far afield, then no one need find fault
with you."

The workmen rose. Sandu got up too ; his
feet could hardly carry him, and his head was
heavy.

For two whole days Sandu did not know
whether he was himself or some one else. He
could not take his food, sleep only came to him at
rare intervals. And during this time he often
thought of going to Master Dinu and giving him

OUT IN THE WORLD 233

notice. Several times he had left the workshop
determined to tell him, but once lotza had called
him to come and help with something, and then he
had thought it over and had left it to a more
suitable time when he should find Dinu alone, for
in front of the mistress he could have said nothing
to him.

And who knows whether he would have said
anything, if Master Dinu had not come through the
workshop. He asked him how the skins were
getting on, and then, as he never cared to prolong
a conversation, he prepared to go, after telling him
that one lot of work must be pressed forward, and
the other done in such and such a way.

Sandu had followed him but the words died
upon his lips.

" What is it, Sandu ? Do you want to tell me
something ? "

"Well, Master Dinu, without any offence to
you, I want to give up the work."

Master Dinu looked long at him. He was pre-
pared for anything except this, and just now when
the fairs were in full swing.

" You want to give me notice ? But why ? "

" Because the mistress is always abusing me, and
she is not satisfied with the way I work, and lotza
makes fun of me, and 1 can bear it no longer : it
is too hard. I work with all my might, and I want
to do good work, and I don't want you to keep me
just out of charity as people say you do."

234 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Come, don't do that ; you know the mistress,
that is her way. As for lotza — listen, I'll stop his
mouth. And, then, where would you find another
place ? Take my advice and let me talk to the
mistress."

Master Dinu went away, and Sandu returned to
the workshop. Before he had spoken with Master
Dinu he had not seemed to realize whether there
was work to finish, and now he did not know
whether he had finished it or not.

Master Dinu went into the house. He told
his wife that Sandu had wished to leave, and bade
her leave him in peace from now on, seeing that
he was an industrious workman and an honest
man.

" Thank you," replied his wife ; " let me tell
you that I take as much interest in the workshop
as you do, and if I am not to be allowed to speak
to the workmen, or give them orders about the
work "

" I do not say you are not to give them orders,
but you are not to make fun of them. After all,
they are human beings."

" So I am in the wrong ! If I tell them how
they are to do something I am making fun of the
men ; impertinent man, to accuse me of joking.
And why didn't you send him away ? "

" Send him away ? Why ? Just now when we
are greatly in need of men ? I rack my brains to
try and get another hand for the work, and don't

OUT IN THE WORLD 235

know where to find one, while you are longing
to get rid of Sandu, and in the long run, for no
reason. You must not be like this."

They were still talking when Nitza Burencea
came to ask if he was going to the fair at Devi.

That evening, after supper, the mistress stopped
Sandu as she wanted to send him somewhere.

" Sandu, why did you want to leave your work ?
Are you not satisfied with our food ? "

" Quite satisfied."

" Or don't we give you enough whisky in the
evening ? "

" I don't drink whisky."

" Don't drink it ? But, you silly man, why
didn't you tell me ? And those other two said
nothing about it — you don't think it rains whisky
with us, do you ? They have drawn your share all
these days. But I'll wipe their mouths for them.
Why did you not tell me long ago ? "

"You never asked me."

" Well, go where I tell you ; and, listen, if I
send you it is because I have not got so much
confidence in the others ; do just what I have told
you."

" I will do so, mistress," replied Sandu, with a
much lighter heart.

When he reached the street he told himself the
mistress was not so bad after all.

An hour later, when he returned, only Ana was
downstairs.

236 ROUMANIAN STORIES

After saying good evening, seeing that Ana was
by herself, he prepared to go out again.

Ana, who saw he was about to open the door,
asked him :

" What do you want, Sandu ? Whom are you
looking for ? "

" For the mistress."

"Then wait for her, she will soon come. Sit
down."

Sandu seated himself on the edge of a chair.

Ana was sewing ; he watched her hands with
their rapid movements, and his eyes were absorbed
in looking at something more beautiful than he had
ever seen before. Ana felt she was being watched.
This idea seemed to hurry her, and she grasped
her needle and began to sew quickly. The more
intently he watched her, the more embarrassed did
Ana become, and a rosy flush mantled her cheeks,
A sort of fever came over her, and in her innermost
soul she was picturing Sandu to herself, how he was
sitting on the chair with his black eyes fixed upon
her, and his eyes were so beautiful and so eloquent,
and Sandu was good-looking. She could bear it no
longer, his look seemed to burn her.

" Sandu, why do you look at me like that ? "

" I — I — was not looking."

A long silence followed. Their souls seemed
to draw near each other in the silent room ; they
spoke no word, but it was as though they told each
other many things and understood each other very

OUT IN THE WORLD 237

well. He was very conscious of her, so near to
him, her light breath was almost inaudible, but it
made his heart beat fast ; she was very conscious of
him, and something intangible but sweet seemed to
invade their hearts.

She felt as though she could not sew, and he
found it hard to look at her. He was afraid of
offending her and he was shy, and he felt he should
be ashamed for her to find his glance resting upon
her hands.

He kept his head down. But Ana would have
liked to look at him, she would have liked to bask
in the light of his eyes, for she felt happy enveloped
in their warm glow.

Sandu did not lift his head. She dropped her
ball of thread. Roused by the noise, Sandu jumped
as though he had been burnt. He searched under
the table and saw it.

She forgot to thank him, and he could not say a
word, but their eyes met and they both blushed.

The time passed on.

"The mistress does not come," said Sandu a
little later, " and I wanted to tell her that I had to
stay some time where she sent me."

" She will soon come," replied Ana. " Sandu,
you told Mother that I had been in the work-
shop ? " she suddenly questioned, looking straight
at him.

" I did not tell her."

" Then who can have told her ? "

238 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" It was not I, and I do not know who it
was."

" How Mother scolded me ! And she said I
had stayed a long while talking to you. Was I a
long time ? "

" Certainly not ; you just came to tell me to
put the sandals in the boxes, and then you went
away."

" Why doesn't Mother like my talking to you
when Father says you are so good ? "

He said nothing ; she stopped ; and a few
moments later the mistress came in.

" It is a good thing you are back. I was waiting
for you," she said hurriedly. " I nearly sent some
one after you ; you are very slow. Now, come and
tell me what you have done."

In the ante-room he told her what he had
arranged with her aunt, and then went off to bed.

The next day was Sunday. The men had little
work to do, and by ten o'clock they were free. As
usual on feast days there was wine on the table, and
Master Dinu, having bought some thirty skins
much more easily than he had expected to, was more
cheerful than usual.

Sandu was more forthcoming than was his wont,
and had washed and brushed himself extra well
to-day. Ana, too, was smart, smart as always, but
she had no time to sit as she had constantly to jump
up to help her mother. Every now and then she
threw a glance at Sandu, and a strange feeling of joy

OUT IN THE WORLD 239

possessed her that he could see her, that he looked
at her.

Only the mistress was as usual, and when the
child complained constantly that his head ached she
wanted the meal to finish quickly. She laid a wet
handkerchief on his forehead and put him to bed.
The child became quieter, and Master Dinu, after
drinking the wine that was left over, rose from the
table — a signal that the meal was finished. Then,
according to his usual habit, he took up his hat,
inquired if anyone wanted any money, gave lotza
what he asked, and went off into the town.

" Sandu," said the mistress, when the workmen
had gone, " if you are not going anywhere, come
back in an hour when we have finished with the
dinner things and sit with Gheorghitza, for to-day is
Sunday and perhaps visitors will come to the house."

Ana looked at him ; Sandu hardly understood
the mistress's words, and could not answer her.

" Speak, are you coming or not ? "

" I will come." And he went out as though he
had been pushed.

At three o'clock came the mistress's mother, a
woman of about sixty years of age, rosy in the face
and well made. She was wearing a dark coloured
skirt, and on her head a kerchief of black silk which
reached nearly to her knees, and in her hand, like
all old women, she carried a yellow handkerchief.

She rarely came to see her daughter, partly
because she knew her time for going out in society

24o ROUMANIAN STORIES

was past, but especially because Mistress Veta was
not glad to see her on feast days ; she would not
have come to-day, but she had not been for a long
time and she was desirous of seeing her grand-
children.

Inside the front room she rejoiced over the
beauty and good manners of her grand-daughter,
who, with her mother, was removing the last speck
of dust, or putting back in its right place anything
that had been left about.

Ana sat down by her grandmother, and her
grandmother stroked her head and looked tenderly
into her face. She never grew tired of saying :
" Such grandchildren, such dear grandchildren."
But just when she was feeling happy the door
opened.

" Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Naraschievici 1 " said
Mistress Veta, jumping up to receive them as
though some royal party had arrived.

" Pray sit down."

Mr. and Mrs. Naraschievici accepted the invita-
tion, while their daughter, a pale, plain girl of over
twenty years of age, did not forget to kiss the
mistress's hand.

" I kiss your hand, aunt," said Ana, too, while
Mrs. Naraschievici in her turn embraced her on the
forehead, and could not help expressing her wonder
at how tall Ana had grown and how pretty she was.

Ana blushed and joined Miss Naraschievici,
while the mistress's eyes shone with pleasure.

OUT IN THE WORLD 241

" You must not tell her so ; you must not turn
her head," she said, just for something to say, while
her mother was asking herself the question as to
why on earth her grand- daughter had said that
« Aunt."

It is true that neither Ana nor Mistress Veta was
related to the Naraschievici family ; however, Mr.
Naraschievici said it was " aristocratic," and all he
said was right in Mistress Veta's eyes.

" Is Master Dinu at home ? "

" No. You know what he is — he cannot bear to
stay at home."

As she said this, Mistress Veta approached her
mother, who looked as if she could have taken the
whole Naraschievici family and put them outside the
door, so angry was she because they had spoilt the
happy hour she had hoped to pass with her grand-
daughter.

" Mother," she whispered in her ear, "it would
be kind if you would go downstairs to Gheorghitza,
who ought to be up now."

The old lady was at the door before she had
finished speaking ; with her hand on the latch she
looked furiously at her daughter and at Mr. and
Mrs. Naraschievici, choked back some words and
went out.

She was going away, saying to herself that she
would never again set foot inside the house, when
she remembered Gheorghitza. When the old lady
went in Sandu was telling him tales.

242 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Here is kind Granny, here is kind Granny,"
cried Gheorghitza gaily.

He got up quickly, put his arms round her neck
and kissed her over and over again.

The old woman forgot her distress as she held
Gheorghitza in her arms. He began to untie the
handkerchief and feel in the pocket of her gown.

" Look what Granny has brought for Gheor-
ghitza," she said.

It was her habit to bring some toy for him.

Now that he had a plaything, Gheorghitza was
no longer ill. His kind Granny made him forget it.
The old lady watched him for some time, and then
she looked at Sandu.

" How is the work getting on ! "

"Well."

" And business is profitable ? "

« Profitable."

As Sandu said this Mistress Veta came into the
ante-room, took a plateful of cakes out of a cupboard
and went quickly away again.

During the noise she made the old lady looked
intently towards the window.

" She takes them upstairs, but she did not
invite me," and her eyes filled with tears. " That
is how she esteems me," said the old lady, steeped
in bitterness. " It's a sad world. I have reached an
old age when my own daughter is ashamed of me.
She sends me out of the house as if I were a nobody.
May God not punish her, for she has children.

OUT IN THE WORLD 243

But it hurts me to see her pay no attention to me
just because of some bankrupts, some wretches who
have fled from Temishoara to avoid their creditors.
But I did not come to get something out of her. I
did not come like those bankrupts to get something
to eat. Thank God I have all I need at home, but
that she should belittle me in such a way as to
make me ridiculous in their eyes — Lord, Lord, did
I rear her for this ? Is it for this I watched over
her ? "

" Sandu," said the old lady, sighing heavily,
" give her my thanks, tell her how I appreciate the
honour she has done me, and that all my life I shaH
never forget that she received me as she should
receive her mother. But listen to me ; tell her,
too, she may wait a long time before I cross her
threshold again, and she need not send to me when
she wants anything. Let her go to the gentleman,
to the bankrupt Naraschievici."

And away went Mistress Veta's mother, so angry
that she could not see where she was walking, while
Sandu sat with drooping head.

In about half an hour Ana came. She was
disappointed to hear her grandmother had gone,
and wanted to know why.

Sandu did not like to tell her, and because his
heart would not let him lie he said to her in a low
voice :

" Well, she went because she could not stay."

Ana sat on the edge of the bed, and sympathizing

244 ROUMANIAN STORIES

with her brother, she asked him whether his head
ached.

Gheorghitza had no time to answer ; he shook
his head and went on playing.

" Sandu, can you stay with him ? You see, I
must go up again. Gheorghitza dear, be good and
play nicely."

Then she kissed him and went slowly away as
though she were loth to go.

And with her went Sandu's heart and the joy
which filled his soul when he saw her standing by
her brother and kissing him so tenderly.

Mistress Veta was beside herself with pleasure
that evening. She did not even ask when or why
her mother had gone so suddenly. She told Sandu
that he was not to dare to tell her what the old lady
had said, but to go and get wood to make a fire to
warm the supper. And once again she went over
in her mind all that Mr. and Mrs. Naraschievici
had said. She felt very flattered, and said she did
not remember when she had spent such a pleasant

day.

• . • • •

There was a heavy frost and the Timish was
frozen. The tanners were obliged to have openings
made in the ice to enable the rinsing of the skins to
take place.

Sandu, shod in big working boots, made his way
through the thick mist and came down to the
Timish to rinse a set of skins. Behind him came the

OUT IN THE WORLD 245

apprentice with a barrow containing the block of
wood with its stand, the rinser and two hatchets for
breaking the ice. They made the opening in the
ice and Sandu remained alone. He fixed one end
of the block on to a stake and arranged the stand
firmly under the other, opened out two skins,
placed them one over the other, on the block, and
began to work.

Sandu was hardened and accustomed to the cold,
but however fast he worked his breath froze and
his hands grew stiff. Seldom at first, but then
more and more frequently did he stamp his feet.
He put the rinser on the block, breathed into the
palms of his hands, and swinging his arms he beat
under his left arm with his right hand, and then
under the right arm with his left hand, to make
his blood circulate, the while his eyes watered with
the cold.

Round him was a frosty calm ; the gurgling of
the water as he turned the skins made him realize
all the more the severity of the winter. He
worked away at his task, but slowly, and with little
result. It was getting towards noon, and he had
rinsed five skins when he heard a crunching of the
snow on the bank, and raised his head.

The rinser dropped from his hand. On the
bank was Ana with a jug in her hand, wishing him
" Good luck."

Sandu did not know how to answer her.

" Come, see what I have brought you, a drop of

246 ROUMANIAN STORIES

warm wine, for Mother is out, and you must be
cold."

Sandu came up the bank ; he could hardly hold
the jug.

" Thank you," he said with his mouth, but his
heart spoke from his eyes.

Ana looked down.

" Drink quickly," she said, so softly she could
scarcely be heard, " for I must not stay long."

Sandu drank the wine.

" Ana, Miss Ana "

Ana drew back her hand, and looking at him in
a way I cannot describe, she said :

" Are you warmer now ? "

Sandu's eyes were too eloquent, the peaceful
isolation was too tempting, the stillness of the
atmosphere was too intense, their hearts were too
attuned for them not to understand each other.

She went up to him with an eager movement,
and he put his arm about her waist and clasped her
to his heart.

They neither of them said a word, but to them
both it seemed that no words were needed.

" Sandu, I must go, I must really go, for Mother
might come," and gently she disengaged herself
from his arms, took a few slow steps, turned round,
and then fled like a little kid towards the house.

While Sandu was watching her, Costa came
along ; he, too, was a master- tanner.

" Ha, ha ! Talpoane's hands live well. What

OUT IN THE WORLD 247

a moment for me to arrive," murmured Costa in his
beard, smiling as he thought of the story he would
be able to tell. " Sandu," he shouted, " I was going
to see you, but as you are at the rinsing I have
come down to ask you whether the hides which I
have been waiting for these three days have come
from Pesta."

" No, they have not come."

" Not ? Why the devil haven't they sent them ?
Have you much work ? "

" A great deal."

" How many hides ? "

Sandu looked at him.

" We have a lot."

" A lot. Yes, I know you have a lot, but how
many ? "

" I have not counted them."

" Have you got business at Hunedoar fair ? "

" I believe so ; the drying is difficult, though."

" You have got some heavy skins, haven't you ? "

" Some heavy, some light ; you know how it is
with the work."

Costa bit his lips and would like to have given
Sandu a cuff or two, so angry was he that he would
not tell him what he was longing to know.

" But, it's cold ! "

« It's cold."

" Come, you ought not to feel it much when
Talpoane's daughter brings you drink."

The blood rushed to Sandu's face, and he did

248 ROUMANIAN STORIES

not know why he did not strike Costa to the ground
as he smiled at him.

" But what of it, haven't we all done the same
kind of thing ? Only look out that nobody sees
you and nobody hears you. That's all right, I
won't keep you from your work ! "

Sandu could not see, everything was black before
his eyes, he was hot all over and a fire seemed to
burn within him. He gnashed his teeth and stretched
the skin as though he would tear it, and rinsed as
though he had some rival to surpass.

At midday the apprentice came to call him to
dinner. On the way he remembered what had
happened and would have liked to turn back. In
the ante-room he saw Ana, and his heart beat as
though it were on fire. Ana, too, was radiant, her
eyes laughed with joy, and the dimples in her cheeks
were more tantalizing than ever. Sandu's heart was
full of delight ; he forgot what Costa had said ; he
was only conscious of Ana's voice.

After dinner the cold was not quite so cruel, the
calm was not so intense, and he did not feel alone ;
there seemed to be plenty of life around him, but
whenever he turned his head he could only see Ana
And longings awoke in his heart, and many pleasant
thoughts passed through his mind, and they all
gathered round Ana's form. His thoughts carried
him far, and he pictured himself with a workshop
and a house of his own, and Ana beside him making
life sweet. They were so tempting and so full of

OUT IN THE WORLD 249

charm that Sandu smiled to himself as he strung
together tender, caressing words to say to Ana, for
he felt she belonged to him, and no one could
disturb the peace of these happy days.

Night closed sadly in and Sandu had long ago
finished his work, but he did not want to move.
He was loath to leave the pleasant, quiet spot where
he had pictured to himself the path in life that was
awaiting him. He gave a sigh of regret as he
stepped along the bank and walked towards the
house of Mistress Veta.

The nearer it drew to the Christmas festival the
busier became the fairs, and the tanners raised the
price of their goods because the weather was moist,
and the peasants were obliged to buy sandals whether
they wanted to or not.

Christmas Eve fell on a Tuesday, and, accord-
ingly, the weekly fair had never been better.

Although Mistress Veta had such a lot to do
that she had hardly time to turn round, she remained
at the booth till ten o'clock, when she returned
home.

The little white, crown-shaped rolls were baked
and divided up, some for the house, some for the
poor, and some for the guests who would expect
hospitality the day after Christmas Day. When
everything was finished and put ready, and Master
Dinu arrived, they all went into the front room.
There they lit a fire that must not be allowed to die

250 ROUMANIAN STORIES

out, that Christ, who was born on this night, might
not feel the cold, and there they quietly waited
till their house was visited by carol-singers and
lads carrying " Stars " or " Magi." To make the
joy next day more complete, they lit the Christmas
Tree, and out of a cupboard Master Dinu took a
little riding-horse for Gheorghitza, and for Ana a
work-frame and other things suitable for a big girl.
The parents were happy at the gratitude written on
their children's faces.

Gradually the world seemed to wake up, the
quiet in the town was dispelled. As the stars rose in
the sky, there appeared in every street, girls carrying
" Christmas Trees," boys with " Stars " or " Magi "
or "the Manger," and young men with "carols,"
and amidst this busy movement, amidst this pleasant
noise, amidst slow, sad songs or beautiful carols, the
whole town seemed enveloped in an atmosphere of
reverence ; each one, forgetting the troubles of life,
felt himself drawing nearer to the glory of God.

While Master Dinu was listening to the carol-
singers from his windows, and taking the symbol of
the Magi into his house, Sandu sat alone in the
workshop over the way. He had lit an end of
candle, and was sitting on a chair in front of the
opening in the stove below the boiler.

At intervals a drop of liquid fell from the vats,
and the sound of its fall echoed long in the quiet
workshop.

The noise from outside broke dully against the

OUT IN THE WORLD 251

window and took Sandu' s thoughts back to other
days. And all at once he began to carol to himself :

" And as you journey thither
There comes wafted many a mile,
From where the Holy Infant lies,
The scent of fair flowers,
The glow of bright torches,
The smoke of the incense,
The song of the angels."

He sang softly, and the dead past of the years he
had spent since he left the home where he was born
seemed to unroll itself before him. And as he saw
himself alone, and deprived of every kind of pleasure,
a tear crept into his eye, and with his head resting
upon his hand, he sat gazing into the fire. All the
nine years that he had spent Christmas among
strangers, he had envied the joy of others, and never
once had he felt in his heart the peace of the season
as he used to in the days when he was at home.
And who would think of him, or who would give
him any happiness at this holy festival ?

The workshop door opened hastily, and the
appearance of Ana scattered his thoughts to the
wind.

" Sandu, I have brought you something for
Christmas." Sandu did not hold out his hand for it.
" How you look at me, Sandu ! Why do you not
want what I bring you ? "

So saying, Ana came quite close to him, and put
what she had brought into his hand.

252 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Ana," said Sandu, in a stifled voice, " may
God look upon you as I look at you."

His voice seemed to come from the depths of
his soul, and Ana's look grew troubled. The kind-
ness and sorrow with which he spoke touched her
strangely, and resting her head upon his breast she
murmured as in a dream :

" Sandu, dear Sandu."

But she had to go, for she had stolen from the
house when some boys, carrying Magi, had arrived,
and her mother would be looking for her.

Sandu remained behind to tell himself that never
had God given him a happier Christmas.

The day after Christmas, in the afternoon,
his various god-children came to Master Dinu's
house : hospitality demands hospitality. They
brought with them rolls and other things. Mistress
Veta spread food upon the table, and whoever came
took in exchange a roll from the god-parents.

By the evening, Lena, Tziru's widow, alone
remained.

Master Dinu was in a hurry to get away, and
Ana was downstairs with some friends.

The women remained by themselves, enjoying
the wine and conversing. And when two women
sit gossiping, who escapes unscathed by their
tongues ? One person is so and so, another person
dresses so absurdly that every one laughs at her, and
so the idle talk runs on.

" Doesn't it make you laugh " — Mistress Veta

OUT IN THE WORLD 253

takes up the word — " when you see Costa's wife as
pink as a girl ? How can a woman of her age paint
herself?"

"Never mind her, my dear, there are others "

" I don't seem to have heard of them."
Then a little later on :

" I don't know how it is but Costa is an ill-
natured man and a regular chatterbox."

" You say truly, it's the talk of the town."
" But he has become a little more careful, he's
not as he was a while ago. He has begun to shrug
his shoulders only and keep his tongue quiet."

" He pretends to, my dear, but you have not
heard him — it's better for me not to tell you, not to
make you unhappy, especially on a feast day."

" Of course, you must tell me," Mistress Veta
raised her voice and her eyes flashed.

" I would sooner you heard it from other lips."

" Now, Lena, either you tell me, or "

Lena knew Mistress Veta too well not to tell her
that Costa was saying how he had seen Ana going
down to the Timish with warm wine for Sandu, and
how she had stood in the cold for two hours talking
to him, and a great deal more besides.

Red was the wine, but Mistress Veta's face was
redder still. She might have had an apoplectic
stroke.

" Ah ! He said those words ? "

Lena did not know how to calm her.

" My dear, really I did not know how much it

254 ROUMANIAN STORIES

would upset you or I should never have told you.
Why do you get so angry ? Every one knows he is
a liar and a mischief-maker without his equal in the
empire, and who pays attention to all his tales, and
all the world knows how you have brought up Ana.
What tanner's daughter can touch her ? Your
Ana — come, leave it."

" I will not leave it," cried Mistress Veta,
somewhat calmer. " I'll show him. To whom did
he say these words ? "

" 1 don't know to whom he said them ; I heard
of it in Trifu's house."

" In Trifu's house 1 Trifu is his cousin. Don't
listen, Lena ; do you believe his lies ? '*

" How could I believe him, my dear, how could
I believe him ? Neither did Trifu believe him.
He said he would blush to invent such lies."

" Lies, Lena, lies. But let him see me ! My
daughter "

" Say no more about it, Veta. May God keep
Ana well, and you see her happy. Costa — but who's
Costa ? Everybody laughs when he opens his
mouth."

" You heard it in Trifu's house ! Who knows
in how many places he has spit out his libels, for
that man spits, Lena, he spits worse than any cat ;
but I am not I if I don't pay him out."

Lena agreed with her, and sympathized with her
and urged her not to be so angry, for the whole
town knew what Ana's behaviour always was, and

OUT IN THE WORLD 255

people stood still and looked after her when she
passed by, sweet and modest as a rosebud.

" Why let yourself be unhappy, my dear ? " she
said, getting up to go, "when every one's heart
swells when they see Ana, as if she were not the
pride of us all when we see her going about with
gentlemen's daughters. Ana is just herself, and
there is no one like her, so why give yourself bad
moments because of the tittle-tattle of a man like
Costa ? "

Mistress Veta accompanied Lena to the door,
and came back asking herself what was to be done.

Master Dinu came back just at the right
moment.

Without much hesitation his wife told him
everything with various additions and improve-
ments.

« Eh ! And what of it ? " he said. " Don't
the people know us and our daughter, and don't
they know what Costa's words are worth ? Only
Costa says it."

Mistress Veta looked furiously at him.

" What ! The town is talking about your
daughter, and you don't mind ? "

" It isn't that I don't mind ! Of course I mind,
but what would you have me do ? Go and kill him ?
Don't be like this."

" Not be .like this ? I'd better be like you and
not care when they insult my daughter 1 "

" Come now, what am I to do ? "

256 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" What are you to do ? Woe betide the house
where the man is not a real man ! Find out, dis-
cover to whom he has said it, collect witnesses, and
see he never opens his mouth again."

" I will see about it."

" Don't see about it, find him."

Master Dinu knew that his wife must always
have the last word, so he said nothing ; he would
have been glad not to be at home, but he could not
go now. A few minutes later he said :

" Listen, Veta, all right, I will find witnesses, but
supposing it's true ? "

" True ? " screamed his wife, and looked as
though she could have thrown herself upon him and
struck him. " True ? Why doesn't God strangle
the word in your throat? " she snarled, and hurriedly
left the room.

A few seconds later she returned with Ana.

" Ana, hear your father say that it is true you took
warm wine to Sandu."

The haste with which her mother had called her,
and her father's expression so overcame her, that she
stood with drooping head, and raising a corner of
her apron began to cry.

" So this is where we have got to — get out of my
sight that I may never see you again."

Mistress Veta sank exhausted on to a chair, while
Ana sobbed as if her heart would break.

" Why all this to-do even if she did take wine to
the poor man ? What is the great harm in that ?

OUT IN THE WORLD 257

She took him wine because he was cold, and because
I told her to go," said Master Dinu, going up to
Ana. " Don't cry any more," and he stroked her
forehead.

Ana continued to sob, and clung more and more
tightly to her father. Master Dinu felt as if his heart
would break.

" Go and kiss your mother's hand, it's nothing.
Veta "

" No, let her get out of my sight, let her go.
Ana has done this to me, my prudent daughter, my
good daughter, my much-praised daughter, her
mother's joy — she has done this," and Mistress Veta
shook her head while everything seemed to turn black
before her eyes.

Master Dinu did not know what to do. To put
an end to it, he drew Ana gently outside, and tried
to quiet her sobs.

A little later he returned to the house. His wife
was exhausted and depressed, and sat gazing at the
floor.

Suddenly she rose.

" Dinu, you must give Sandu notice to-day, do
you hear ? If you don't go now and tell him never
to show himself here again, you'll never have any
peace from me."

" How can I dismiss the man in the middle ot
the night ? You must see we cannot — and then,
what harm has he done ? "

Mistress Veta could have killed him with a look.

258 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" You will give him notice, do you understand ?
Or I will turn him out."

" All right, Veta, we will give him notice, but
what stories will be told about us outside 1 How
we dismiss workmen on feast days, and turn them
out of the house in the dead of night. You must be
patient. To-morrow I will give him all the money
due to him, and tell him to go in God's name."

" It's your business to deal with him ; never let
me see him again ; if they make any fuss I'll scratch
his eyes out. He has got us talked about, no other
than he, do you hear ? Let him get out of my
workshop, or there will be trouble."

Early next day, Master Dinu went to the work-
shop and called to Sandu.

He found it difficult, and he much regretted
having to part with him, but there was nothing else
to be done. He asked him how long he had been
in his workshop, what money he had drawn, and
made the calculation as to how much he had still to
receive.

Sandu felt as if the house were falling about his
ears — he could not keep him any longer ? The blow
was a heavy one.

"You have twenty-seven florins to come to you,"
said Master Dinu, and he did not seem to have the
courage to look Sandu in the face. " Here are
thirty, so that you do not lose your daily pay up to
the beginning of next week. May God give you
good fortune, you are a good man, and an honest,

OUT IN THE WORLD 259

but 1 — 1 can no longer keep you. I am sorry, but
I cannot help it. God be with you."

And so saying, Master Dinu went away.

Lost in thought Sandu stood gazing in front of
him, seeing nothing. After a while he sighed
heavily, picked up his money, and with a heart that
seemed turned to ice he went off to collect all he
had, poor man, in the way of clothes and linen,
before he took the road.

He collected all his possessions, but he could
not make up his mind to take leave of the men with
whom he had worked so long. Even lotza was
sorry, for Sandu had been kind, and never spoken a
rude word to him.

" I am sorry to leave you," said Sandu, and he
felt as if his heart was breaking.

" God be with you," replied they, and holding
out their hands they accompanied him outside.

lotza went a little way with him.

" Sandu, listen ; I cannot bear not to tell you,
but I know the mistress and you, and I know you
want to go and say good-bye to her. Don't go,
listen to me : it was not the master, it was she who
said you were to be dismissed. Don't go, it is
better not to go."

Sandu made no reply.

They went a few steps farther together and
parted. The nearer he drew to Master Dinu's
house, the more he longed to enter. He felt as
though some one were urging him to go in.

260 ROUMANIAN STORIES

When he was quite near the door Master Dinu
came out into the street. When he saw Sandu he
stopped.

" You are going ? "

" I am going, master, but I wanted to take leave
of the mistress."

"As the mistress is not at home let me tell
her."

Sandu bent his head.

" Good luck to you, master.

" May God be with you ! "

With slow and heavy step Sandu took the road
to the market-place. At the corner he stopped.
He turned his head and looked back along the street
towards Master Dinu's house.

He had crossed the square and was on the
bridge when he met Nitza Burencea.

" What's up, Sandu, have you left ? Where are
you going ? "

Sandu, like a person awakened out of a trance,
with his eyes fastened dreamily upon the distant
horizon, answered in a troubled voice :

" I go out into the world ! "

THE BIRD OF ILL OMEN

BY I. AL. BRATESCU-VOINESHTI

CONU COSTACHE had one of the pleasantest
faces in the town.
Men of the same age as himself said he
was nearly seventy years old ; but a life free from
care, a comfortable fortune, a wife as loving as a
sister, two children who were getting on well, and,
above all, his own kindly nature, had kept him so
healthy, quick of movement and clear of mind, that
one would not have given him fifty years.

He told stories with a charm and humour that
gathered an audience round him whenever he
opened his mouth ; and as he had travelled much
abroad, and was also a sportsman, he knew every
kind of amusing anecdote.

This man, who was as good as new bread, always
smiling, whose person seemed to radiate joy, became
acrimonious and impatient every time his game of
Preference went badly ; it was the one and only,
but the daily game of cards he played. He did not
get angry out of stinginess — he was not a miser ;

261

262 ROUMANIAN STORIES

on the contrary, he was open-handed, that was his
nature.

If it happened that he " entered " twice in
succession, or if he got irritated with his partners,
he grew furious. Everything seemed wrong to
him ; the jam was sour, the coffee too sweet, the
water too cold, the lamp too dim, the chalk was not
sharp enough ; he shouted at the boy who served
him ; he changed his chair because it squeaked ;
he hammered upon the table with his fists until the
candlesticks jumped ; he looked daggers over his
spectacles at anyone who made a joke — I assure
you, he was in a vile temper, as vile a temper as a
man could be in, when he had no other place in
which to give vent to it.

His partners knew him, and were aware that five
minutes after the game was over he would become
once more kind, amiable, and amusing Conu
Costache.

If you were sitting near him when he was playing
Preference, you should get up the first time he
" entered " ; shouldn't wait for him to say to you :
" Can't you get away, my good fellow ; you spoil
my luck ! " One day, after two " entries," he said
to a person with whom he had only just become
acquainted and who would not move away from
his side :

" Excuse me, sir, but I believe in birds of ill
omen. This game is a question of faces. I can
scarcely compose my own face ; I certainly cannot

THE BIRD OF ILL OMEN 263

compose yours. Kindly move a little farther off !
Thank you. Don't be offended."

Ever since that day, the onlookers at the game
have been given the name of birds of ill omen, and
they swarmed in the room where Conu Costache
played ; if the game went well he was affable and
they listened to him with pleasure — if the game went
badly, they moved away from him and made fun of
his ill humour.

One evening the Prefect gave a party. The
young people danced in the drawing-room ; their
elders assembled in the other rooms ; Conu Costache
sat at a table playing Preference with three other
people ; among them was the attorney, a cunning
player with a special talent for making him
lose his temper ; a large audience had gathered
round.

Conu Costache was losing : he was angry, but
controlled himself — he could not give vent to his
annoyance, for there were ladies present. Conu and
his friends were playing in the middle of the room ;
he had barely scored six, and had entered the pool
with thirteen.

At this moment an old lady approached. She
was a Moldavian, the mother of Dr. lonashcu. She
took a chair, seated herself by Conu Costache with
the calm serenity of the aged, who neither see nor
hear well.

There she remained.

From time to time she gently put a question to

264 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Conu Costache ; it had the same effect upon his
agitation as does oil upon a fire of coals.

" How beautiful it must be at your country-
house now, Mr. Costache ! "

" Beautiful, Mrs. Raluca," he replied, forcing
himself to smile — and chalking himself another
eighteen in the pool.

" I expect you often go there, as it is so close."

"I went to-day, Mrs. Raluca."

No words can describe the contrast between the
placidity with which Mrs. Raluca told her beads,
and the fury with which Conu Costache shuffled
his cards.

" Is it a good harvest, Mr. Costache ? "

" G — g — good, Mrs. Raluca," he replied, thrust-
ing both hands inside the neck of his shirt to loosen
the collar.

The game began, the attorney played below the
ace, Conu Costache named the suit for the second
time.

" Have you got a good road along there now ? "

" Y — y — yes, Mrs. Raluca."

It was a wonder his handkerchief did not rub
the skin off his forehead, he mopped it with such
vigour. His partners and the onlookers shook
with laughter ; the attorney did not give way at all,
he saw how furious he was ; he bid with nothing in
his hand, and passed just in time to make him
" enter " a second time.

And at this moment Mrs. Raluca's questions

THE BIRD OF ILL OMEN 265

fell one after the other as fast as the beads of a rosary.
She did not hear the rustling of the cards nor the
choking in Conu Costache's throat, she did not see
his misery nor the amusement of the others.

" But they have cut down the lovely wood on
the right, haven't they, Mr. Costache ? "

" Th — th — they have cut it down, Mrs. Raluca,"
he answered, gazing at the ceiling and pressing his
temples between his hands.

He bid and came in, said " Play " — and found
two clubs in the talon which he did not want. Such
a collection of cards you have never seen ; it might
have been done on purpose. If you had tried to
arrange them so, you could not have done it. It
was a regular " walk-over " : one cut four honours,
the other cut the spades, and out of the eight games
won five.

All he cut was an ace, and a pair. He put
forty-eight in the pool.

" But the little lake still lies on the left, doesn't
it, Mr. Costache ? "

« St— st— - still, Mrs. Raluca."

With a small brush he violently effaced the
whole row of his stakes chalked on the cloth and
wrote down a total of ninety- four in huge figures.

" But I must ask you, the inn "

Conu Costache turned his chair right round.

" Mrs. Raluca, to-morrow afternoon my wife
and I are going to our country-house — we will
come and pick you up. In this way you will see

266 ROUMANIAN STORIES

how they cut down the wood on the right ; you
will see how the storks walk by the lake on the left ;
you will see how they have repaired the bridges ;
you will see how they have renovated the inn at
the cross-gates ; you will see what a nice house
lonitza Andrescu from Ulmi has built ; you will
see what big reservoirs the Aurora factory have
erected by the road. . . ."

Mrs. Raluca understood and took her departure,
telling her beads as she went, but even when she had
passed into the third room Conu Costache still con-
tinued, while the others were convulsed with
laughter :

" You will see how illegible the figures on the
76 milestone have become ; you will see how the
boys have broken the insulators on the telegraph
posts by throwing stones at them ; you will see how
the geese hiss when the carriage passes by ; you will
see "

Then, turning back to his partners, who laughed
till the tears ran down their cheeks, he groaned :

" Terrible bird of ill omen ! "

IRINEL

BY B. DELAVRANCEA

WHEN my parents died, both in the same
year, I was quite small ; I think I must
have been about seven years old.

I wanted to cry over them both, for I loved
them both, but when 1 approached their coffin I was
not alone.

You must know that my father left a consider-
able fortune.

There were many people about him who could
not endure him.

There was talk of a will.

There was one member of the family about
whom my father said : " It is so long since he
crossed our threshold that I do not understand why
he is so offended with us."

It is unkind to tell you : it was his brother
and my uncle, a very good man, with only one fault
— he had lost his entire fortune at cards. I found
among my father's papers a quantity of his I.O.U.'s,
beautifully signed with flourishes, but unpaid.

267

268 ROUMANIAN STORIES

I approached the coffin ; I was sure that I should
weep as no one had ever wept before.

My home without my parents !

Some one took me by the hand, and said to me
as he kissed me on both cheeks :

" lorgu, lorgu, cry, lorgu, for those who will
never return ! "

It was he ! The uncle of the promissory notes !

Just when my eyes ought to have been full of
tears, I caught sight of him, and when I looked
round me and saw the other people, when I met so
many pairs of eyes, then — I was ashamed and could
not cry. Oh, it is a terrible thing to feel ashamed
to cry when one is sorrowing !

Do you see how shy I am ? Have you grasped
it ? It is difficult to understand. It is difficult,
because you, readers, are different. Not one of you
are the same as I am.

I was so good and timid that, when I completed
my twenty-first year, I did not want to leave the
guardianship of my eldest uncle, my mother's
brother, a very gentle man like myself, and very
shy like my mother.

It makes me laugh. Is it likely I shall tell you
an untruth ? Why should I ? I don't ask you
anything, you don't ask me anything. Why should
I lie ?

But it is true that I have not told you quite
openly why I did not ask for an account of my

IRINEL 269

minority, and why I stayed in that house, which
was as white as milk — especially on moonlight
nights — with its balcony, its oak staircase, its pillars
with flowered capitals and wreaths round their
centres.

Did I like the house ? Yes.

Did I love my uncle who had managed my
affairs ? Yes. Was I ashamed, directly I came
of age, to demand an account as though I doubted
his honesty ? Yes. Anything besides ? Was there
anything else that kept me in bondage ?

If you had looked at me a little askance, I
should have blushed and replied, " Yes." And if
you were to look at me even now when I have
already grown many white hairs, I should tell you
like a guilty child : " No, it is not true that I loved
so much the house in which I grew up, or the
uncle with whom I lived. There was something
else."

There was some one there besides a cousin of
the same age as myself, besides my uncle — my aunt
was dead — besides the house, and a long-haired dog.
There was somebody else !

Ah ! This sort of somebody has reformed
many a ne'er-do-weel, has dazzled many a shy man,
has turned many business men into poets, has
shaken many a professor to the depths of his being,
blowing away his system like the threads of a
spider's web.

No doubt it was a very fascinating " somebody "

270 ROUMANIAN STORIES

who made you stay in tutelage twenty-four hours
after you had reached your twenty-first year and
come into 1 5,000 lei.

I think you have guessed the secret which I
have hidden till now.

Oh, women, women ! What do they care for
the timid or the philosopher ?

Neither innocence nor philosophy can resist a
light step and a pair of eyes which sparkle and
glow and pierce through the coldest, most selfish,
most impenetrable heart.

Was it not the same Irinel, with whom 1 once
played childish games ? Was she not the same
wild tomboy with her frocks down to her knees
only, and her white stockings that became green by
the evening ? Was she not the same little demon
who threw her books into the veranda on her return
from school, and put both arms round my neck to
make me give her a ride on my back ?

The child turned into the woman, and instead
of the gentle eyes with their extreme innocence in
which I lost myself as in a boundless expanse, there
shone two devilish fires in whose light I saw an
explanation of life with all its sea of pleasures and
emotions.

And now Irinel used to take me by the hand.
She was fifteen years old ; for some time her hand
had felt different — warmer, softer, more I don't
know what, when I took it in mine. Her gaiety

IRINEL 271

was no longer even and continual as of old ; she no
longer talked quickly and incessantly.

And if I said to her : " Irinel, do you think it
will rain to-day ? " or " Irinel, there are only two
weeks before the long vacation begins, shall you be
pleased, as you used to be, when we go to Slanic ? "
Irinel remained silent, looking straight in front of
her, and I am sure that at that moment she saw
nothing — trees, houses, and sky disappeared as
though in a thick mist.

This silence surprised and disquieted me, and I
said to her in a low voice, almost as though I were
guilty of something wrong :

" Irinel, you are scarcely back from school and
you are bored already ? "

An exaggerated gaiety was her immediate reply ;
she laughed, and talked, and told little anecdotes
which she began and left unfinished, especially
about life at school.

" You don't know," she said to me in a quick,
loud voice, " what a letter one of my friends showed
me. Only I read it, and another girl and her sister,
and it seems to me she showed it to some others.
I nearly died of laughter."

And Irinel began to laugh, and laughed and
laughed until the tears ran down her rosy cheeks.
Then sighing and laughing she began :

" He wrote to her, trembling, of stars, two only,
which burnt and spoke to him. How can the stars
he talks about burn ? Are they bits of coal ? How

272 ROUMANIAN STORIES

can stars speak ? I don't understand. After that
came ice, thawing, marble, a bed of fire, a monastery,
suicide — Ah ! pauvre Marie ! Indeed, I was sorry
for her, poor girl ! Many a time we put our arms
round each other's necks and kissed each other.
We kissed each other and began to cry. You must
know, lorgu, that we kept nothing from each other.
Every Monday she read me a letter on which could
be seen traces of big tears, and I, after I had con-
trolled myself sufficiently not to burst out laughing
over those f two twin stars which burn and speak,'
had to prepare to cry, and, believe me, I cried with
all my heart. Pauvre ch'erie I "

Irinel was ready to cry after laughing with such
enjoyment, but, when she noticed that I kept my
eyes cast down and listened in silence as though I
were offended, she asked me with malicious irony :

" lorgu, do you think it will rain to-day ? "

Such scenes took place early in the morning :
Sunday was a day of torture for me. All day Irinel
said " If you please " to me. She embroidered or
played the piano instead of our walking about the
yard and garden. All day I felt the terrible anger
of a very shy person with " those two stars which
speak."

For three years I lived this life of daring dreams
during the week, of fear and misery on Sunday, of
wonderful plans put off from day to day, and con-
cealed with an hypocrisy possessed only by the
timid and innocent.

IRINEL 273

During the last year, after a vacation passed at
Slanic, I made up my mind.

The day she went back to school we hardly
dared kiss each other. What cold kisses ! We
neither of us looked at the other. I remember I
looked at the sofa, and it seemed to me as though
my lips had touched the hard yellow material instead
of those firm, rosy cheeks which were to me a fearful

I made up my mind, and I am sure that no one
could have come to a more heroic decision.

To give myself courage, during the first night I
thought out the scene which should take place the
following Sunday without fail. I did not sleep all
night ; in the intense darkness I saw the garden, I
saw Irinel, I heard myself, I heard her.

The cocks crew. I was lying at full length, my
face uppermost, my eyes shut. I was perspiring
from the boldness which I had shown during the
scene which was running in my mind.

" Irinel, will you come and walk in the garden ? "

" No, merci ! "

" That will not do, we must go for a walk."

She understood that I had decided to say some-
thing important to her. Such courage impressed
and compelled.

The cocks crew. It was midnight. It was
pouring ; flashes of lightning, like serpents of light,
shone for a second through my curtains.

274 ROUMANIAN STORIES

" Irinel, you must come with me. Don't you
see what a beautiful day it is ? I have discovered a
bunch of ripe grapes which I have kept for you all
the week."

" No, merci ! "

" It is impossible for you not to come. I have
made up my mind to tell you something "

" What ? " replied Irinel, and turned her eyes
upon me."

Who could bear such a bright light ? I looked
down, but revolted by such cowardice I felt the
courage of a hero, and lifting my head I replied
to her :

" You must come I "

In all my life I had never commanded anyone.
I was ordering her !

It was pitch dark ; it was raining outside. I
turned towards the wall. I closed my eyes. It was
light. It was a beautiful Sunday. And still full
of that courage I said to her once more :

" You must come ! "

And I took her by the hand. From now on
my heart almost ceased to beat. I told her all I
had wanted to say to her for two years.

" Irinel, Irinel, I love you ! Do you love
me ? Why are you silent ? Why do you look
down ? Tell me, shall I leave the house where
I have watched you growing up under my eyes,
or "

« Stay ! "

IRINEL 275

We embraced each other ; we kissed each other.
It was over.

Lord ! How brave men are when they are in
love !

I grew cold all over when I reflected that this
scene had not yet taken place, but was still to come.
I sank down under my quilt afraid of such courage.

It began to grow light. I went off to sleep
gradually, rehearsing this heroic scene :

" Irinel, will you come for a walk ? "

" No, merci ! "

"This cannot be, you must "

The next day I woke up about ten o'clock. My
uncle asked me in his kind, calm voice :

" lorgu, are you not well that you got up so
late to-day ? "

I, feeling myself in fault, replied, embarrassed :

"No — a book — I went to sleep late."

My ears were burning as though I had held
them against a hot stove.

The veranda seemed to be giving way under
me. Do you know, at that moment a thought
crossed my mind that overwhelmed me ? Irinel
was only Irinel, but, with my uncle, what courage I
should need ! How would he, an old man of pious
habits, regard in his old age a marriage within the
prohibited degree among members of his own
family ?

Why did he stand in front of me ? Why did

276 ROUMANIAN STORIES

he look at me like that ? He understood me and
was appraising me ! His look spoke, though his
lips most certainly did not move. I heard the
words passing through his mind as distinctly as
though some one had whispered in my ear :

" I never could have believed, nephew, that you
would have turned my child's head ! What would
your mother say were she alive to see this ? "

Why did not my uncle turn away from me ?
Was he looking at me or elsewhere ? What else
was there to see ? I do not know if the fault was
great, but the judge was cruel. And my judge
grew bigger, like a Titan, like a wall between me
and Irinel. In my ears there rang what I am con-
vinced was the sentence he had secretly passed on
me : " What a depraved youth 1 The old are
passing away, and with them disappear the old
moral ideas 1 "

I was ready to sink under my chair. My uncle
said to me :

" lorgu, you have not had any coffee. It
seems to me you are not well, are you ? "

What irony ! Were his words more gentle
than before ? Useless thought ! I understood
him. God defend you from a good man who
disapproves of you. It's bad enough to feel oneself
guilty before a good and upright man.

Why was punishment for mankind invented ?
Punishment is the reward of sin. I could have
wished that my uncle would pronounce his sentence

IRINEL 277

of punishment. But no, he has taken me prisoner,
he has judged me and, instead of punishing me, he
stoops to give me coffee and two rolls. In all my
life I had never experienced a greater agony.

No doubt he had seen us walking silently
together, not gaily as we used to do. He under-
stood why Irinel stayed in the house on one or two
Sundays. Of course he knew why I did not go to
sleep till early dawn, and who knows, he might
have heard me calling in my dreams :

" Irinel, Irinel, I love you ! Do you love me ? "

What would my uncle think of his daughter
married to his sister's son ? It would mean asking
for a dispensation. Would it not be turning such
a religious man into an object of derision in his
old age ? And for what reason ? Just through
the caprice of a boy whom he had brought up and
cared for.

Irinel and I had grown up together more like
brother and sister than cousins ! If there had only
been a question of the civil right ! But the laws of
the Church ! How could one trample them under-
foot ?

Throughout the week, early in the morning, at
night and through the day, at meals and during
school hours, this thought occupied my mind !

" It is impossible ! It is impossible ! I wonder
that I did not see that sooner."

About six o'clock on Saturday our old carriage

278 ROUMANIAN STORIES

turned into the courtyard ; inside was my uncle
and by him sat Irinel. From the oak steps of the
veranda I watched the white hair and the golden
curls and, scarcely able to control my tears, I said
to myself: " It is impossible."

Irinel sprang from the carriage and came up to
me. She was happy. We kissed each other, but,
believe me, she seemed to kiss in the air.

" What's the matter, lorgu ? You are very
pale. You are thinner, or does it only seem so to
me?"

Before I could answer her my uncle hastened,
hastened to say :

"I don't know what's the matter with lorgu.
It seems to me he is ill, but he will not say so."

Oh ! Oh ! You don't know what is the matter
with me, uncle ? You don't know what is the
matter ? It seems to you I am ill ? I do not
want to tell you ? Do you say what is the matter
with you ? You are a good man, but what a
hypocrite

He thinks I do not understand him.

To Irinel I say gently :

" There is nothing the matter, Irinel. But you,
are you well ? "

And so it went on — nearly a whole year of
depression.

Why should I tell you that I grew thinner and
paler, that I often shivered, and with secret pleasure,
exaggerated a little cough when I walked in the

IRINEL 279

garden with Irinel ? You have seen so many thin
and pale men, and you have read so many novels in
which consumptive lovers either shoot themselves
or throw themselves into the sea, so that if I told you
that I grew thinner, that I took to playing billiards,
that I began to drink, and that once I drank three
half bottles in succession, you would only yawn.

There is nothing remarkable in the love and
depression of a nervous person. Who would
remain, even for an instant, with a man who suffers
in silence ? And 1 kept silence from St. Mary's
day to St. Peter's.

" What is the matter with you ? "

" Nothing."

" Are you ill ? "

"No, uncle ; no, dear Irinel."

At last the momentous day arrived ! Irinel
finished the last year of her education. On the 2Oth
of June she left school for good.

That very day she asked my uncle abruptly to
what watering-place we were going, and on hearing
came into my room.

Stretched upon my bed, I was reading the
wonderful discourse of Cogalniceanu's, printed in
front of the " Chronicles." I made up my mind to
read law and study literature and history.

When I saw her I jumped up. She whirled
round on one foot, and her gown seemed like a big
convolvulus ; and after this revolution she stopped
in front of me, laughing and clapping her hands.

28o ROUMANIAN STORIES

She made me a curtsy as she daintily lifted up her
skirt on either side between two fingers, and asked
me coyly :

" Mon cher cousin, can you guess where we are
going to this summer ? "

" No, Irinel," I replied, exaggerating the cough
which was becoming more and more of a silly habit.

" What will you give me if I tell you ? "

And after once more whirling round while her
gown swept across my feet, and laughing and clap-
ping, she asked me most sedately :

"Will you kiss my hand with respect, like a
grown-up person's, if I tell you ? "

"Yes, Irinel."

And the cough again played its part.

" No, you must kiss my hand first."

She held out her hand to me, which I kissed
sadly, but with pleasure.

" And now this one ! "

" And that one, Irinel."

" To Mehadia ! To Mehadia ! Won't it be
beautiful ? I am bored with Slanic."

She ran about the house so quickly that her
petticoats worked up above her knees. I blushed ;
she blushed ; then breaking into a silvery laugh she
threw herself upon me and said :

" We will dance a polka. I will sing. I will be
gentleman ; 1 will steer you."

Then I heard my uncle calling her : " Irinel !
Irinel ! Where are you ? "

IRINEL 281

She disappeared in a second.

I threw myself on my bed. I took up the
" Chronicles," but instead of reading I began to
think. " Irinel ! Irinel 1 " The first Irinel was
quick, severe, malicious, the second one was linger-
ing, much softer, almost caressing. Of course he
had meant to reassure her, he had wanted to deceive
me. He thought to make me believe he had meant
nothing. But what did that " Where are you ? "
signify ?

I understood from the way in which he had
said " where " that there lay the real drift of the
question. He had not anything to say to her, but
he very much wanted to know " where " she was.
In other words, was she perchance with me in my
room ? Such espionage was humiliating for an
orphan whose whole life he had directed, and whose
fortune he had controlled, because he had the right
to say to him with a single word, by a single look :
" This is how I reward an ungrateful person, a youth
who has no regard for the old men who are soon to
pass away, burying with them the moral customs of
this country." That " Where are you ? " was as
clear as noonday. Do you suppose he did not
know where she was ?

" Ah ! An orphan must not fall in love ! "

I don't know what other thoughts I had. The
door of the room opened ; Irinel stood in the
doorway.

How great an unhappiness it is to see happiness

282 ROUMANIAN STORIES

standing on the threshold, and to know it will not
cross ; that it will remain yonder, so near and yet so
far!

Irinel crossed the threshold ; she came up to
me. I realized that she had crossed the threshold,
but still my happiness remained outside. I under-
stood the old man had sent her back in order to
deceive me, and that she had guessed nothing.

" Do you know what Father has just told me ?
A guest is coming to us at the festival of St. Peter.
A big merchant."

What did that mean ?

" And did he say anything else ? "

11 Nothing ; but yes, he did. We are to kill
our fattest chicken and the house is to be put into
the most spick and span order, for our guest is an
important merchant, a deputy, elderly, and I don't
know what all and what else."

After teasing me and laughing at me because I
coughed just as the girls at school did to make the
doctor prescribe iron and old wine, but more
particularly old wine than iron, Irinel left me.

" Ugh ! It's lucky he is old. Supposing he
had been a young man ? "

On St. Peter's day I rose in such a state of
anxiety that I started at every sound. Has it not
been known for old men to lose their heads and
marry girls of eighteen ?

For three hours I wandered about the grounds.

IRINEL 283

I waited for this rival with the same impatience with
which I once waited for Irinel to come quickly from
school. Am I deceiving myself or not ? The same
sensations, identically the same, were present with
me, waiting thus for the object of my hatred as when
I waited for her I loved. I wanted to see him as soon
as possible ; for a second ; just to know him ; to
find out who he was.

At ten o'clock a carriage drew up in front of the
door. Some one got out. When I saw him I
began to laugh. He was very feeble, he was very
old. No doubt he was smart with his black coat
and red tie. I greeted him with respect, I might
almost say with affection, and then, sorry at having
felt hatred for such an old man, with such snow-
white hair, I went quietly into the garden. I turned
down one of the paths. How sad and drear do the
most beautiful natural surroundings become when
they are reflected by a sad and lonely heart ? What
indifference everywhere 1

The garden gate was opened rather hastily as
though the wind had forced it. Irinel appeared.
She looked all round, then, seeing me, she flew
towards me. The breeze which she made by her
flight fluttered her thin gown of white batiste with
black spots.

She was pale. She took my hand. Her own
trembled. She tried to speak, and said several
times :

" Wait, wait, wait while I get my breath "

284 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Then she became silent and looked at me. Oh,
what a look ! Her eyes flashed sparks. Their
blue depths seemed to me like an incomprehensible
ocean, tempest driven, without bottom, without
boundaries. I looked down, overwhelmed by an
inexplicable fear, by a powerful emotion. I noticed
my boots, and I thought to myself : " Have they
cleaned my boots to-day or not ? Of course, they
must have. Don't they clean them every day ? "

"lorgu, do you know why that old man has
come ? "

" No," I answered her, with a stupid calm.

Had they cleaned my boots ? Perhaps the dew
was still on the grass.

" lorgu, do you know what Father said to me ? "

« No."

" c Put on your foulard gown.' '

"Your foulard gown ? The one I like so
much?"

" But do you know why he wanted me to ? "

"Of course I do."

She trembled.

I continued, as I took out my handkerchief and
flicked the dust from one of my boots :

" Of course I know. Isn't to-day a great
festival ? "

" Ah," she replied as she withdrew the hand
I was holding, " you understand nothing ! What
an indifferent and non-understanding man you
.are ! "

IRINEL 285

Indifferent ? 1 understood everything from her
look and her emotion, and with a calmness which I
was certainly far from feeling I bent down and
dusted the other boot.

" The old man has come, Irinel " I said,

glancing at her for a moment.

She was white, her lower lip quivered, the light
in her eyes had darkened.

"The old man has come, Irinel. What then?
He will dine with us ? All the better. We shall
be a bigger party at table."

Was it I speaking ? There were only she and I
in the garden.

" The old man has come, has come. Alas ! "
she replied, covering her eyes with both her hands.
" The old man has come and some one is going to
leave this house ! He has "

Irinel began to cry.

"What has he ?"

" A son who is an engineer."

" Engineer ? Has he learnt engineering ? "

"Yes, he has learnt engineering!" Irinel replied
angrily, and uncovered her crimson cheeks. " Yes,
he has learnt en-gi-neer-ing, and some one is going
to leave this house I "

I watched how she stood in the doorway, and
then crossed it lightly as she wiped away her tears
on a clean corner of her gown. I looked long after
her, then I threw myself face upwards under one of
the fruit-trees.

286 ROUMANIAN STORIES

Nature was full of life ! The apple-trees bent
their great boughs ; the sparrows chattered, some of
them were fluttering their wings, others were collect-
ing into groups preparing for a fierce fight. Little
patches of sunlight played upon my face. When I
felt two rows of tears trickling into my ears, I
jumped to my feet, I gazed towards the door, and
said gently, full of a profound melancholy :

" Some one is going to leave this house ! "

The next day I showed my uncle a faked recom-
mendation, in writing, from a doctor ordering me to
Bourboule under pretext of a serious affection of the
left lung.

I pass rapidly over this episode. I kissed my
uncle's hand and Irinel. Irinel !

Only when I was crossing the frontier and
looking from the open window of the train at the
Hungarian landscape lying stretched out before me,
did I begin to wonder. Supposing she had not
looked at me so intently ! A searching look
paralysed me. Supposing she had asked me what it
was I wanted to say to her ? Such shyness is a
form of madness. But what courage I should have
wanted ! How could I have convinced my uncle ?
Was not Irinel like my sister ? Ah, no ! It was
impossible ! It was impossible !

The train, which was puffing along, gave a
whistle that echoed through the country. A few
tears fell through the window, and seeking with my

IRINEL 287

eyes the country from which I had come, and the
direction where lay the house and garden in which I
had grown up so happily, I gave a wave with my
hand, and said sighing :
« Good-bye, Irinel ! "

THE END

A 000 832 423 8

CENTRAL UNIVERSITY
of California,

DATE DUE

C139

VCSD Libr.