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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Roumanian Stories, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Roumanian Stories
+       Translated from the Original Roumanian
+
+Author: Various
+
+Translator: Lucy Byng
+
+Release Date: February 26, 2012 [EBook #38991]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUMANIAN STORIES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for project
+Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously
+made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                           ROUMANIAN STORIES
+                          Translated from the
+                           original Roumanian
+
+
+                              By LUCY BYNG
+
+
+                   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
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+By H.M. THE QUEEN OF ROUMANIA
+
+
+Very little is known in England about Roumanian literature,
+which although not as rich as in many other countries, presents,
+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 particular 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 historians 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
+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
+
+
+As 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
+respective 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; 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 personification of the Roumanian people subject
+for centuries 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 the original note of the life of the
+shepherds in the Balkans. Constantly upon the road, among mountain
+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 Zamfirescu 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                1
+    The Easter Torch.     I. L. Caragiale                 11
+    At Manjoala's Inn.     I. L. Caragiale                35
+    Alexandru Lapushneanu, 1564-1569.     C. Negruzzi     51
+    Zidra.     M. Beza                                    85
+    Gardana.     M. Beza                                  93
+    The Dead Pool.     M. Beza                           109
+    Old Nichifor, the Impostor.     I. Creanga           115
+    Cozma Racoare.     M. Sadoveanu                      141
+    The Wanderers.     M. Sadoveanu                      157
+    The Fledgeling.     I. Al. Bratescu-Voineshti        167
+    Popa Tanda.     I. Slavici                           175
+    Out in the World.     Ion Popovici-Banatzeanu        207
+    The Bird of Ill Omen.     I. Al. Bratescu-Voineshti  261
+    Irinel.     B. Delavrancea                           267
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ROUMANIAN STORIES
+
+THE FAIRY OF THE LAKE
+
+By M. SADOVEANU
+
+
+One evening old Costescu told us an adventure 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 surround 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 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 atmosphere,
+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."
+
+"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, 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 I 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 setting
+sun. The oars splashed softly with a musical sound. The girl's whole
+body moved with a rhythmic 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.
+
+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 sadness 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 I 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.
+
+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 perfume of some wild flower.
+
+In the gradually deepening shadows of the twilight 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 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. I 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 by the sun and caressed
+by the wind; every movement, 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 I had perceived 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.
+
+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 I 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
+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
+
+
+Leiba 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 supervision
+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 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--wherever 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--so he said--and was looking for work. The
+innkeeper 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. Unfortunately, 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-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
+from 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 all 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 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 commissionaires,
+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 Cafe 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. 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 burning. 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.
+
+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; 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!" But his voice refused to obey him.
+
+"Get up, Jew!" 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 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 themselves 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
+innkeeper 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.
+
+Atavism; alcoholism and its pathological consequences; defective birth;
+deformity; Paludism; then nervous disorders! Such and such conquest
+of modern science--but the case of reversion to type! Darwin, Haeckel,
+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 "illuminating" ideas. Perhaps
+for the first time did such grand words and fine subtleties of thought
+find expression in the damp atmosphere of Podeni. 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.
+
+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 head. Is not that easy to
+understand 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 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 wall. 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, without 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?"
+
+"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 something? 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 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
+weakness, 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 imperceptible 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 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.
+
+Was there any chance of escape? Absurd! In his burning brain the
+image of the gimlet took inconceivable dimensions. The instrument,
+turning 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 opening 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 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! Pinned to the spot," he said, despairingly. "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 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!" 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.
+
+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 receiver 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 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 upwards. 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.
+
+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 turning 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!"
+
+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! 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 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
+himself 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 Iordache. 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 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 somewhere 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
+shamming? 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.
+
+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."
+
+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?"
+
+"You think because you hide yourself under your cap that nobody
+sees what you do. Aren't you going to Pocovnicu Iordache 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! 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 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 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
+conversation! Good luck to Mistress Marghioala!
+
+After coffee she said to the old maidservant: "Tell them to bring
+out a half-bottle of muscadine."
+
+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 marvellous 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:
+
+"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 Marghioala, 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 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 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 Iordache. 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 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. I 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 off my horse, which would not advance for the world, and took
+the reins up short. I bent down to the ground.
+
+"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. 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."
+
+"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 Iordache."
+
+"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 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 Iordache, 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, genuflexions 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 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," I 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 Alexandru
+Lapushneanu, after two successive defeats at the hands of the tyrant's
+forces, fled to Constantinople, 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?"
+
+"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 comes 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.
+
+"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 Highness
+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 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 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
+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 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 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 communication with the exiled boyars
+decided that Shtefan should perish. Perhaps they would have 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 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."
+
+Lapushneanu's face grew dark, and he unclasped his hands; Rucsanda
+fell at his feet.
+
+"Oh, good my Lord! my brave husband!" she continued. "It is
+enough! 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 account of his deeds, for blood is not redeemed
+by building monasteries; 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 wife, 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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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:
+
+"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
+without a shepherd as the Saviour said: 'They were distressed and
+scattered as sheep not having a shepherd.' Most noble boyars! Let us
+henceforth live in peace, loving one another like brothers, for this
+is one of the ten commandments: '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 trespasses 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!" they all replied, except two
+young boyars who were standing 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 reconciliation. 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,
+Lapushneanu either would not answer them or would not listen to them.
+
+As the hour of the feast drew near, the boyars 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 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 meanwhile
+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, determined to kill,
+executioners and victims, some fighting with the fury of despair,
+others with drunken rage. The boyars had had no suspicions, thus
+treacherously attacked from behind, and unarmed, 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.
+
+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. "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?"
+
+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!" "Do not
+rob us!" "We remain poor!" "We have no money!" "Motzoc has taken our
+all!" "Motzoc! Motzoc!" "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! 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."
+
+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!" 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 Lapushneanu 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 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
+Alexandru 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 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, according 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 his 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."
+
+"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 Lapushneanu, smiling, "instead of
+rejoicing, she is horrified."
+
+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 time Alexandru
+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 mutilated 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, 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
+Metropolitan 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 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 continually 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.
+
+"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, 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 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 belt.
+
+"But yes, he takes it, he drinks. May it do your Highness good!"
+
+Rucsanda emerged shaking and livid, and supporting 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. Lapushneanu 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 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!" 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!"
+
+"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 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 himself 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
+
+
+We were talking in the inn at Grabova 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 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 everybody 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 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! It is unlucky to speak of such things.' '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: '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--something intangible, blowing like an icy
+breath that made my mother shudder. How could I understand then? Time
+alone has given me the explanation of it all. And to-day when I think
+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 elsewhere. 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: '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.
+
+"During one of these nights--the wheel stopped and I heard
+my mother saying: '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!' 'Who could be
+knocking?' she murmured.
+
+"After a moment of indecision she went downstairs. 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 herself she said
+suddenly: 'Can I? 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 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!' 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!'
+
+"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 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 Sticotur, in the monastery.' 'Since when?' 'Since
+dinner-time to-day--he is eating and drinking.' '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, 'and the head and two hundred ducats.'"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+GARDANA
+
+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."
+
+"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 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 hundred 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. Especially after what his wife
+had said. At night he could not sleep. He dozed for a while, and
+then woke 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
+buttercups like little goblets of gold. But Mitu Tega had no time
+for such things. His eyes were searching 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
+shepherd 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 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 afternoon 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 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 upstairs.
+
+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 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 Gardana!"
+
+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."
+
+"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 themselves."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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 eyebrows,
+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 must 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 and there. And after
+one motion of his hand, as though to say "I have much sorrow in my
+heart," he added:
+
+"That girl is dead--and I, too, shall die, everything 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 disappearing 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
+prepared a shelter for the night for Tega--within was a 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!" 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:
+
+"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:
+
+"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 I 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 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 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. I 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...."
+
+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 unchanged 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 neighbourhood of water--not fresh water, but water asleep
+for centuries.
+
+"Can you see the pool?" questioned my companion, Ghicu Sina; and then
+he added: "It is hidden, certainly, but look with attention."
+
+I looked, and after a time, getting accustomed to the darkness, I,
+too, got the impression of something 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 flickering 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:
+
+"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 bursting 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, 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 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 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 remembered 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 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.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OLD NICHIFOR, THE IMPOSTOR
+
+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 christening 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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+
+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 Razboeni; 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!"
+
+"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 falling 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:
+
+"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-Sunday--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.
+
+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 confessor, 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."
+
+"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 Nichifor?"
+
+"Certainly, Master Shtrul; my word is my word. I don't trouble myself
+much. As for the journey, 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 afternoon."
+
+"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 yesterday, 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
+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 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 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!"
+
+"It may be so, Mosh Nichifor."
+
+"Dear young lady, it is as I tell you. Houp la! 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 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:
+
+"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.
+
+"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 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 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.
+
+"Well, here's a to-do!"
+
+"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!
+
+"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 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 carriage, 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-la!"
+
+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." And as he spoke he saw a man coming towards them.
+
+"Well met, good man!"
+
+"So your carriage has broken the road!"
+
+"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!
+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.
+
+"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 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! 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 somewhere?"
+
+"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:
+
+"Do you see, Mistress Malca, how beautifully the wood burns?"
+
+"I see, Mosh Nichifor, but my heart is throbbing with fear."
+
+"Ugh! you will excuse me, but you seem to belong to the Itzic
+breed. Pluck up a little courage! If you are so timid, get into the
+carriage, and go to sleep: the night is short, daylight 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!
+
+"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 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, trembling 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."
+
+"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! 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 understand all her husband wanted! Mistress
+Malca! Mistress Malca!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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! 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.
+
+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 inside and the Turks outside. The
+Turks were battering the walls with their guns. The volunteers 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.
+
+
+
+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 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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"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 courtyard, 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.
+
+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 approached 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 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!"
+
+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, I 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 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."
+
+"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!" 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 henceforth 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.
+
+"Well! Well!" groaned Boyar Nicola, breathing 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 understanding 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.
+
+"Who are you?"
+
+"Open!" shouted Cozma.
+
+From within was heard a whispered:
+
+"Open!" "Do not open!" "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
+extinguished, 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, "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!"
+
+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:
+
+"Gavril! Niculai! Toader! 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! 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!"
+
+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. 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.
+
+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 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 outside the door of the old house. A strong,
+broad-shouldered young man descended, a big bundle in his right hand,
+a case in his left.
+
+"Roman! Roman!" 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!" 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!" laughed old Savicky, "how now? Do you not know each
+other? Ah! Kiss each 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:
+
+"From Warsaw!"
+
+"Yes," said Roman, "I have journeyed throughout 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, bursting 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 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.
+
+"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 stillness 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! 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
+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 affliction; 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 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
+
+
+One 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. Sometimes the quail caught an ant, sometimes a
+grasshopper, 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:
+
+"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 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 sunrise,
+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!"
+
+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 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 consideration 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: "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 sportsman 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! A few seconds later the quail
+rose, and flew low along the ground a few inches in front of the
+dog's muzzle. It pursued her, and the sportsman followed, shouting:
+"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!" 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 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!" 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 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.
+
+Three days later, the whole region was clothed in winter's white,
+cold garb. The violent snowstorm 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 schoolmaster 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.
+
+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 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 something 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 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 graveyard 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 "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 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 village 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 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 crosswise--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 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 something, 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 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 considerable 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, penetrating 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 understand 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
+neighbours. 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 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 existence of a man perishing from hunger,
+and he gave his faithful hearers the thoughts which had germinated
+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 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!"
+
+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 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 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. 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 mankind. One gives rise to
+another, or are they, 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.
+
+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 himself 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 understand. 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 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 commanded; only the priest agreed
+with it, the people did not. The Father got little from his office,
+anyhow 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 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 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 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 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!"
+
+"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, about
+four times the size of the bit they had cultivated. 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 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 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 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!"
+
+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 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. "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 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 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 acquaintance 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 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."
+
+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
+
+
+The 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 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.
+
+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 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 innkeeper 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 himself 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 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
+freshness 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 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 himself, 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 wandering 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----"
+
+"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 darkened 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 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 workshop 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.
+
+"Here we are," said the apprentice, stopping in front of 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, 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."
+
+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 into 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, 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----"
+
+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 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 somewhat 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 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, Iotza, 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.
+
+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 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," replied 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.
+
+"Then why didn't he tell me?" she cried. "Am I supposed to know
+everything?" Sandu turned round. "But can you read?"
+
+"Yes, mistress, I 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 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 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 movement, and began quickly to cut out
+the sandals.
+
+The workmen, who had heard the words exchanged, and seen the abrupt
+departure of the mistress, kept complete silence and busied themselves
+with their work.
+
+Master Dinu finished cutting the skins.
+
+"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 Iotza, looking after him.
+
+"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 by black
+eyelashes, and when she laughed one's heart glowed in the joyous sound,
+and one wished one could often hear her laughing.
+
+Iotza--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 Iotza 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 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 Iotza, and passed him in such a hurry that she did
+not hear his greeting.
+
+"Well, Sandu, what did Ana want in the workshop?" 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! 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.
+
+"Iotza, I learnt my work from the master and not from the workman."
+
+"And what next?"
+
+"The next is, that I don't need your advice."
+
+"We shall see," cried Iotza, 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! 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 Iotza, interfering in the conversation;
+and as he opened the door to take out a bundle of bark, he added:
+"But he knows everything, 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 tell everything to, otherwise there would not be much
+use in your work!"
+
+For some time Sandu stayed alone in the workshop; 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.
+
+Iotza 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 Iotza.
+
+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 unsettled.
+
+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
+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, Iotza 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----"
+
+"Oh, it's always mistress, mistress! 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 notice. Several times he had left the workshop
+determined to tell him, but once Iotza 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 prepared 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 Iotza makes fun of me, and I 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."
+
+"Come, don't do that; you know the mistress, that is her way. As for
+Iotza--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
+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.
+
+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 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 workshop?" she suddenly questioned, looking straight
+at him.
+
+"I did not tell her."
+
+"Then who can have told her?"
+
+"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 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 Iotza 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 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 grandchildren.
+
+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!" said Mistress Veta, jumping up to
+receive them as though some royal party had arrived.
+
+"Pray sit down."
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Naraschievici accepted the invitation, 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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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 Gheorghitza," 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. 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 shall 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 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 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 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 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 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 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, accordingly, 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 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 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.
+
+"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 kindness 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 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 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?"
+
+"I don't know to whom he said them; I heard of it in Trifu's house."
+
+"In Trifu's house! 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 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 improvements.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Come now, what am I to do?"
+
+"What are you to do? Woe betide the house where the man is not a real
+man! Find out, discover 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? 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 of the night? You must see
+we cannot--and then, what harm has he done?"
+
+Mistress Veta could have killed him with a look.
+
+"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! 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 workshop 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, but I--I 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 Iotza 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.
+
+Iotza 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.
+
+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; 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 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. Ionashcu. 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 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, thrusting 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 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
+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 Ionitza 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 continued, 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 I
+approached their coffin I was not alone.
+
+You must know that my father left a considerable 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.
+
+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:
+
+"Iorgu, Iorgu, cry, Iorgu, 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 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-well, 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" who made you stay in
+tutelage twenty-four hours after you had reached your twenty-first
+year and come into 15,000 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 I 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 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 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, Iorgu, 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 controlled myself
+sufficiently not to burst out laughing over those 'two twin stars
+which burn and speak,' had to prepare to cry, and, believe me,
+I cried with all my heart. Pauvre cherie!"
+
+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:
+
+"Iorgu, 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 concealed with an hypocrisy possessed only by the timid
+and innocent.
+
+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 joy.
+
+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 something 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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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!"
+
+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:
+
+"Iorgu, 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 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 convinced was the sentence he had secretly passed on me:
+"What a depraved youth! The old are passing away, and with them
+disappear the old moral ideas!"
+
+I was ready to sink under my chair. My uncle said to me:
+
+"Iorgu, 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
+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 understood 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 underfoot?
+
+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 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, Iorgu? 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 Iorgu. 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 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 I 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 20th 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. 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 clapping, 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; I will
+steer you."
+
+Then I heard my uncle calling her: "Irinel! Irinel! Where are you?"
+
+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!" The first Irinel was quick,
+severe, malicious, the second one was lingering, 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 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
+understood 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?"
+
+"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. 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 snowwhite 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!
+
+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----"
+
+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?"
+
+"Iorgu, 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.
+
+"Iorgu, do you know what Father said to me?"
+
+"No."
+
+"'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!"
+
+Indifferent? I 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 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.
+
+Nature was full of life! The apple-trees bent their great boughs;
+the sparrows chattered, some of them were fluttering their wings,
+others were collecting 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 recommendation, 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 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
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Roumanian Stories, by Various
+
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