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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/78341-0.txt b/78341-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a65b09e --- /dev/null +++ b/78341-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1779 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78341 *** + + + + + LITTLE BLUE BOOK NO. =1492= + Edited by E. Haldeman-Julius + + Stories of Gypsy Life + + Konrad Bercovici + + HALDEMAN-JULIUS PUBLICATIONS + GIRARD, KANSAS + + + + + Copyright, 1929, + Doubleday, Doran Co. + Published by Arrangement + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + + CONTENTS + + + Page + + The Mill on the River 5 + + Ripe Wheat 20 + + Sava 42 + + + + + STORIES OF GYPSY LIFE + + + + + THE MILL ON THE RIVER + + +It was an old mill, Dimitru’s mill on the Bistritza River. It had been +run by the family of Dimitru long before any other mills had ever been +put on either side of the river, all through the Moldavia country. +The dykes and the water wheels were of old oak, cut from trees in the +forest when the country paid yearly tribute to Turkey and was ruled by +the Fanariots of Stamboul. + +Within the mill were fifty pairs of millstones which, grinding wheat +and corn, had themselves been ground so thin that they had no weight to +mill any more the hard grain growing in that part of Roumania. These +old millstones were the pride of the family, for not another mill in +the country could show so many. + +When anybody said anything about Dimitru’s mill or the manner in which +he milled, the tall, black-bearded, wide-chested, brown-eyed miller +would stretch to his full height, and pounding the left side of his +chest with his right hand, he would cry: + +“Look at these stones! Fifty pair of stones have ground flour in this +mill. I myself have used five pair. This is the sixth one on the shaft.” + +Those millstones were like arms of the escutcheon of a nobleman, which +no man was allowed to impugn. + +At the inn Dimitru was looked upon with respect by the peasants. He +was one of the oldest inhabitants of the village. Indeed, the village +itself, clustered as it was about the mill, was known as Dimitru’s Mill +Village. For not only did they mill flour there, but they cut logs that +were let down from the heights of the Carpathians early every spring, +and they pressed oil out of pumpkin seeds, and carded wool, and even +worked things out at a lathe which Dimitru himself had installed there; +at first merely to satisfy a whim he had had after he had first seen a +lathe work in another village, and then, as he grew more proficient, to +make furniture for most of the people in the village. Back of the mill +there was a shop in which carts and wheels were made, and chairs and +tables; and even small husking machines, patterned after one that had +been bought in Austria. The water wheel provided the power for all the +work. + +The inn, the church, the school, the mayor’s office, the situation +of every building was reckoned by its distance from the mill. During +the winter, when there was only little work to do, the elders of the +village would assemble in the mill, and watching the still in which the +mash of plums and pears, grown in the neighborhood, was distilled into +spirits, watching the drops fall into the receptacle that sat under the +long copper worm, they would tell the tales they had heard from their +mothers and grandmothers, who in turn had heard them from their parents +and grandparents--stories of visitations of wolves; tales of sorceries, +of witches which had risen up riding in the air on broomsticks, +and of horses that could run so fast they disappeared from sight in +less time than it takes to blink an eye. They recalled the different +battles--battles with the Turks, battles with the Russians, battles +with the Hungarians; births of five-legged calves and two-headed +chickens, and the reappearances of deceased men whose ghosts were +forever roaming about this, that and the other place. + +Dimitru repeated an old tale of his own family, of how the stones of +his mill had stopped once by themselves while some corn was being +ground. From behind the stones groaned a voice which was recognized as +being the voice of Vasili, Vasili Yoan Stefans, who had died only a few +months before. + +“Mill not this corn,” the voice had called. “It has been stolen from my +granary by Panait, the Greek. Give it back to my wife lest my children +starve this winter.” + +The millstones refused to budge or turn until every grain of flour +which had already been ground was swept out clean and returned to the +bag from which the corn had been taken. And even then the stones would +not move, although the water wheels turned and everything else was in +motion. The wool was being carded, the logs were being sawn; only the +millstones refused to turn. Not until the widow had been called and +the corn belonging to her had been returned, and not until Panait had +confessed to stealing the grain, had the stones turned again. + +And there were many tales, similar to that one, centered about the +mill. For the mill had also refused to grind grain when the Russians +had invaded the country a century ago, and had refused to grind when +the Turks had come. It was the mill on the Bistritza that ground wheat +and corn and pressed oil and sawed logs and turned the lathe only for +those belonging to the land. And Dimitru was the owner of that mill. + +Dimitru had a son, and a daughter whom he had married off when very +young. The son, like all the sons back in the family, was preparing +himself to take over the mill of his father when the time should come. +For even if he were to take a wife while his father was yet alive, +there was enough room for him and his wife in the house. And even if +he were to raise a family, there was enough room and enough field for +him to pasture his dowry of cows and sheep, and to raise enough fodder +for them. He had indeed already taken off a good deal of the burden of +his father, for while the old man busied himself with his cart shop, +preferring the lathe to the mill, George was in complete charge of the +stones. And he was as good a miller as his father. + +But although he joked and played around with most of the young girls +who came to the mill, although he danced with all of them at the inn, +teasing, singing, joking with them, there was not one who could say +that he was giving her preference over the others. Tall, dark, with +big brown eyes, the lashes of which were always covered with a thin +white powder, the dark, tufty brows looking like those of an old man +because of a fine flour powder always on them, he was a good dancer, +and his voice rose above the voices of the others when any singing was +being done at the inn. At the wrestling matches on Sunday there were +few youngsters who dared to match him. And he was gay and always happy. +And it was known that although he was allowed to take one-tenth of the +flour he milled, in payment for milling it, from everybody, he took +only half that amount, and sometimes not even that from the poor and +the widows of the country. Indeed, many a widow had brought half a bag +of corn and returned home with a full bag of corn flour, George yelling +at the top of his voice, when the widow claimed there had been some +mistake, that he was an honest miller. + +“You have brought one bag of corn and not two, widow of Jorga,” he +would silence the protesting woman, not giving her any chance or time +to explain herself. + +“You have brought one bag, and I know you have brought only one bag! Am +I a miller, or a thief, or what?” he would shout, and show great anger, +as he would push her out of the mill. + +One winter night, while the wind was howling, and the water wheel, +raised from the frozen river, was squeaking and groaning, and the storm +was beating savagely against the windows and doors of the mill, one of +the villagers sitting about the walled-in stove, in the ashes of which +the potatoes were being baked, asked: + +“George, whom are you going to marry?” + +Dimitru gave his son no time to answer. “He will marry the one who will +bring him a good enough dowry,” he answered, instead of his son. + +One by one they passed in review all the marriageable daughters of the +village. They knew all of them. And when Dimitru had shaken his head to +the last one, the _staroste_--the elder of the village--trembling and +with shaking fists, thundered into the face of the man: + +“Is it, then, the death of one of the married men that you are waiting +for, to marry your son?” + +George had been making fun of all that was said. He had taken it all as +a joke. But to the thundering voice of the _staroste_ he replied: + +“I wish everyone long life in this village, and in every other one. +When I am ready to marry, I shall make my own choice.” + +“Indeed, my son wants to get married to some pauper. I have given six +pair of oxen as dowry to my daughter, six pair of oxen and one hundred +gold pieces. But he may want to marry some pauper!” + +“A time will come,” George answered. “My time will come. But it shall +be of my own choice, not of anybody else’s.” + +“Well said,” spoke the gray-bearded _staroste_. + +Old Dimitru remained silent. + +Then they all sat down to sample the new prune juice that was dripping +from the copper worm. It was better that such discussion end in joy, so +they sang their saddest songs. + +Finally George remarked, on looking toward the idle stones, “It is a +pity they should be idle so long.” + +George was never happy but when the stones turned around. + +“This is a water mill,” his father answered. “When the Bistritza +freezes, the mill freezes.” + +“I know, Father.” He was a miller and lived only when the mill lived. +“But it is a pity that the stones should not be turning when the +Bistritza freezes.” + +“If it were a windmill, you would be saying half the time the same +thing,” another man of the group mused. + +“If it were a horse mill, the mill would not be turning at night,” +another man said in jest. + +Whereupon one of the men, who had served in the army, and had been far +away in a large city, began to speak about a large, steam-power mill +which he had seen on his travels. A steam mill. One prepared logs to +fire the engine during the summer, and then in winter one had the mill +go whether the river was frozen or not. + +George mused impatiently, “What a pity the Bistritza freezes!” + +During the first month of the winter, after the river had frozen, he +had had some work to do. He had sharpened every tooth and smoothed out +the grain of the stones, until the teeth were as sharp as steel edges. +He had cleaned and adjusted and readjusted everything. He had made it +all ready to go, and now he was anxious to hear the whirl and turn of +the mill, grinding and crunching all that was shoved into it. + +“What a pity the Bistritza freezes!” + +His father looked at him and then replied: “It is a thing I am going +to put into my will, that this is a water mill and it shall remain so. +This mill has ground fifty pair of stones.” + +George was tired of always hearing the same thing. He left the company +to go to his own room above the shaft. + +Soon after, the peasants tightened their wolf-fur coats about them and +returned to their homes, after wishing one another good luck. It was +snowing and storming. Wolves were prowling on the road. + +Dimitru still pottered about in the cart shop, working on a new +corn-husking machine he was trying to perfect; then, tired, he, too, +went to his room, where he lay wondering what was to become of the mill +after he was no longer there. Was it to be desecrated? Was it to be +forever forgotten as the water mill on the Bistritza? Was all the pride +of generations to be sacrificed to that new thing of which the returned +soldier had spoken? Outside the wind was howling, the lugubrious plaint +of the hungry wolves was coming near and nearer, the wheel was creaking +on its axle, straining the ropes that held it to the thick iron staples +embedded in the stone of the walls. Whom was that son of his to marry +if he wanted to marry of his own choice? It had not been so with him. +His father had chosen him a bride, decided on the dowry, and married +him off. Yet he had been happy! George should do as he had done. He +was the father, the master.... With these thoughts the old man fell +asleep. + +Early that spring, after the river had broken, and the logs began to +descend to the mill, and the wheel had begun again to turn, George, +very busy and very happy, forgot all about the frozen months. + +At the inn Dan, Petru’s son, whose farm was across the river and who +was reputed to be very wealthy, came to meet Dimitru, the miller, to +talk over matters of matrimony between his daughter Veta and George. +After the bottle of wine was between them, Dan opened the conversation. + +“There is no other man would offer the dowry I offer. What say you?” + +“I say that my son George must receive as much as I have given my +daughter as dowry. Six pair of great oxen, one hundred gold pieces, and +all the other things.” + +Dan, red-haired and easily excited, rose from his chair. “Is my Veta a +cripple?” + +Dimitru answered calmly: “She is not ... but George is a better man +than the one who married my daughter.” + +They both sat down again. It was not fitting they should be heard +quarreling by the others. + +“Am I a miller to be able to give such dowry?” Dan remonstrated. Then, +as an afterthought, he added, “One should be able to accumulate wealth +by building a mill the other side of the river so people won’t have to +lose time rowing back and forth.” + +“The mill is on this side,” Dimitru answered. “It is on this side.” + +“Since millers ask such dowry, it may come to pass that there will be a +mill on the other side also.” + +Upon that the two men left the inn. + +On reaching the mill Dimitru asked his son, “What say you about Veta, +Dan’s daughter?” + +George was busy cleaning the flour funnels. He was as if snow-clad. He +wiped his face with his sleeve and answered: “It is long since I have +seen her. They have their own inn on the other side. I remember her +well, however, beautiful and strong.” + +“You will marry her,” Dimitru announced briefly. + +“Who says I will?” yelled George. He was furious. + +“I say so. I have talked to her father about dowry and things.” + +“Marry her, then, yourself. I shall do my own choosing when I am ready.” + +“You will do what I say, George.” + +“In the mill, because the mill is yours.” + +“And do you know what will happen if you don’t marry Veta? Dan will put +up a mill on the other side and starve our stones. Do you understand?” + +George paled. But the next instant he stopped the whirr of the mill to +be better heard and said to his father: + +“Even though she be the fairest on earth, I say ‘no.’ I am not a horse +or an ox to be marketed that way. Let him build ten mills.” + +Upon that he returned to his work, while the old man muttered, “You +will do as I say,” and went to his shop. + +A few days later, bricks were being brought in big carts and deposited +on the other side of the river. Bricks and beams and lumber, and +gypsies came to dig the foundation of a large building. + +Dimitru’s heart stopped beating when he saw that Dan really intended to +build a mill. He sent word he wanted to speak to him, but Veta’s father +refused to come. The old miller could not sleep nights, nor could he +work at his lathe. The noise of the work across the river maddened him. +Another mill was rising. Another mill, and his son seemed not to care. +He asked George to go to the dance across the river and get better +acquainted with Veta.... The mill had to be stopped. George refused. He +would not be traded away. He would take a wife of his own choice, mill +or no mill. Veta was out of the question. + +When the foundation had risen above a man’s height from the ground, +Dimitru, compelling his son to come along, rowed across the Bistritza +to have a talk with Dan. He found the man busily engaged in giving +orders, flushed by the activity about him. + +“What is it you are doing, Dan, Petru’s son?” Dimitru asked, as if he +did not know. + +“As you see, my neighbor across the water--putting up a mill for the +people on this side of the river, so that they shall not have to row +across to your mill.” + +“But a good half of my milling comes from your side of the river,” +Dimitru answered. + +“That is just why I am putting up the mill,” Dan replied sarcastically. + +“But that is impossible! My mill has been there for over a hundred +years,” remonstrated Dimitru. “Are you going to starve the stones?” + +“To each one his own way of doing,” replied the would-be miller. “But +young men demand such dowries, nowadays, they can only be made by +milling and not by farming.” + +“But we have been millers for hundreds of years,” Dimitru insisted. + +“I hope my grandchildren will be able to say the same thing about this +mill,” Dan retorted. “Perhaps things will change, and people will begin +to row from your side of the river to this mill, for I shall mill +cheaper than you do.” + +“So that is what you want to do,” cried Dimitru. “Starve me out!” + +“You see,” Dan retorted, “I have only daughters in my house. And the +young men about this place want big dowries, which only millers can +give to their daughters.” + +While the two men were speaking, Veta, Dan’s daughter, came riding upon +a small horse. George raised his fur cap as he saw her, and approached +to help her from the saddle. Instantly the two older men looked at each +other with a look of understanding. Perhaps the problem was nearer a +solution than they had just thought. The conversation between them lost +its acridity as they saw the two youngsters together, Dimitru saying: + +“It is not a mill that I should like for my son as dowry. He already +has one.” + +To which Dan answered, “I have not offered the mill as dowry, have I?” + +They tried conversation on other subjects, but it always reverted to +what one had to offer as dowry, and what the other one would be willing +to accept for his son. In the midst of that, Dimitru, having remarked a +too great interest in his son for the girl, abruptly decided to leave +for the other shore. + +“Go on and work your mill, son. This is no time to idle. Come.” + +“Come dance at our inn,” George urged Veta, as he jumped into the boat. + +“There is a big dance at our inn tomorrow, Sunday,” the girl answered. + +Then the oars splashed in the water, and the boat was rowed across with +vigorous strokes by father and son. + +Late that night, as the two men were anchoring the water wheel over +Sunday, the father said to his son: + +“I shall ask as dowry that he stop working on his mill.” + +Instantly George rose to his full height and looked his father straight +in the eye. + +“You might have asked me,” George remonstrated, “for I happen not to +wish to marry Veta.” + +“You do not?” Dimitru asked furiously. “But I do want you to marry her, +and marry her you will. I shall not live to see the stones of my mill +idle when they should be milling--live to see how the corn is rowed +across the river to be milled in the other mill, led by ungodly German +wheels turning of themselves. For it is a steam mill he is putting up.” + +“This is certain,” George answered, “you cannot make me marry her.” + +Then he left his father and went to his room. He was furious. Because +his father had spoken so compellingly, Veta, of whom he had thought +rather agreeably, had lost her favor in his eyes. He was going to marry +whom he pleased, and not because of fifty pair of dead stones that lay +around there, requesting him to do otherwise. + +The following day, Sunday, he went to the inn on his side of the river, +in his best clothes, looking around for any likely girl whom he had +not previously remarked, so that he could make love to her, knowing +full well that his father was watching his every movement. In the midst +of the dance Veta arrived. She was fairer than most of them, and she +had put on her best garb. Upon her bare, full neck she wore the gold +necklace, her white silk shawl hung down from the comb in her hair, and +her high, well-modeled boots, that reached to her knees, were decorated +with veins of red and green leather. + +The old man smiled to himself when he saw her, sure that George could +not resist her: she was so beautiful. He was also certain that she +had come to dance with his son, sent probably by Dan, her father, who +already regretted what he had done. Ah! He was not going to let Dan off +so easily if he saw Veta loving his son. + +But the girl seemed to pay no attention to George after a perfunctory +greeting. At the dance she locked her arm into the arm of the son of +the blacksmith and danced with him in the second, and third, and fourth +dances, avoiding dancing with George. It enraged the old man. Seating +himself near his son, who was resting between dances, he said: + +“That shrew is trying to play with you.” + +“Nobody can play with me,” George answered. + +“She thinks that if she can make you love her, her father will get off +with less dowry than he should pay.” + +“Who says I want her?” George answered. + +At the end of the fourth dance Veta beckoned to George to come outside; +she wanted to talk to him. He followed her out quickly. + +Once outside, the girl told him rapidly: + +“My father wants to compel me to marry you. I don’t want to.” + +“And mine wants to compel me to marry you, and I don’t want to,” George +answered. + +“Then it is understood,” Veta replied, after looking the boy straight +in the face. “Are we cattle to be married against our will? We do not +want it. I always knew you to be a man, George.” + +“No, we do not want it.” And they shook hands on that. + +They reentered the inn as unobtrusively as they had gone out. George +watched her walk ahead of him and thought: + +“What a spirited girl! And that fool of a father thinks he can compel +her to marry somebody she does not want to!” + + + + + RIPE WHEAT + + +The wheat blades, heavy with the large berry nests, swayed golden in +the light of the setting sun. The bells of the little church tolled +the call to prayers. God had been good to the peasants of the Dobrudja +land. There had been rain in time, and the locusts had kept away from +the marshlands of Tcherna. The peasants, accompanied by their wives +and children, all in their Sunday clothes--the embroidered waists with +the red-and-green skirts and the high boots with the vamps of colored +leather--crowded the road leading to the house of God. + +They had been going to that church every evening while their +wheatfields ripened. They were praying that no calamity overtake them; +for they had already suffered enough the previous three years. Two +years of drought had robbed them of all their labor, and on the third +clouds of buzzing locusts had suddenly settled upon their fields and +devoured all, leaving only dry stalks, before moving on, flying lower, +because heavier, to other fields to do the same work of destruction. + +But now all seemed past danger. They offered thanks to the Lord and +promised gifts of candles and oil for the lamps under the icons of the +church. On the morrow, they were to begin harvest. Returning from the +church, talking softly among themselves, still awed by the sacred +ritual, they looked over the scythes to see if they were sharp enough +and the curved handles strong enough. + +It was only after the evening was over that gaiety entered the square, +thatched mud huts of the Roumanian peasants. A lone gypsy fiddler +had appeared at the inn. It was One-Eyed Naie, who traveled from one +village to another without ever remaining anywhere more than a night. +Some people said it was because of an oath he had taken. Others said +that he was continually running away from a curse which followed him +for a sinful deed in his youth. But it did not matter. Naie was a good +fiddler. Already the villagers were assembling at the inn. + +Tomorrow they were going out to harvest their fields. Many brought +their curved long-handled scythes to the inn to show them to one +another, and to whet them still sharper with the oilstones they carried +in their belts while talking to friends. They had had their first meal +in more than two weeks; for they had kept “post”--had abstained from +eating meat while they were praying God’s mercy. + +Now Naie was playing. The young men and the girls were ready for the +dance. Two of the older men, Stan and the blacksmith Gavril, sat down +near Naie to beat the rhythm with their palms while he was playing the +dance tunes. There were song and dance and loud laughter before the +night was very old. Arms were locked in arms--the sinewy brown, hairy +ones of the young men on the velvet-white, delicately veined ones of +the girls. + +Gay scarfs flashed in the air as they were turning round and round the +fiddler sitting on top of an overturned barrel. Heels were thumping the +ground so hard the windows shook and the rafters of the low ceiling +trembled. And they laughed and sang and yodeled. + +In the midst of all the gaiety appeared Boyar Robu. The youngsters +continued to dance at his approach, but the older men became silent. +Even the two old men who had been beating the rhythm with their palms +ceased to do so. He was a tall man, Boyar Robu, and thin and wiry. A +curly black beard framed his strong brownish face. He was a man of +about thirty. He was dressed half peasant and half European. + +He greeted everybody in a friendly manner, calling each one by name. +But the answers to his greeting were, though respectful, anything but +cordial or receptive on the part of the peasants. The priest, Popa +Stancu, was standing talking to a peasant. + +“Good evening, Popa,” Boyar Robu called out, and kissed the extended +hand of the man of God, as he walked up to him. The priest followed +almost reluctantly the Boyar to the table. + +“And do please serve everybody,” the Boyar called to the innkeeper. +“This has been a good year.” + +The peasants were not much pleased by the Boyar’s generosity, and when +he noticed their refusal a wild rage overpowered him. Standing up he +smashed his empty glass on the floor. + +Instantly Naie ceased playing. The Boyar stood and narrowed his eyes +until they looked more like two slits from under which shot dark fire, +as he called out: + +“Am I a heathen that you refuse me? It is on my land that your wheat +has grown! On mine! And it has been so for generations and generations. +And while peasants were flogged daily, and beaten and robbed by +other boyars a few miles from here your fathers and grandfathers and +yourselves have lived freely on my land, long before the laws of the +country had given you freedom!” + +“It is not that, Boyar,” Stan, the oldest of the peasants, spoke up, +after looking around to the other men. “But we do know what you want. +None of the men would put their oxen or drive your oxen to these +ungodly machines that you have brought from Nemtzia, or from other +countries, to do the work God made man to do.” + +“We’ll talk about that afterward,” the Boyar called. + +Instantly glasses clinked. Blessings and good wishes were proffered. +They were his friends; his peasants. He was their master. Their good +master. But those machines ... that was a different story ... those +things were the work of the devil. + +The dance having stopped, some of the young people went out in couples +to speak of things more important to them than what was being discussed +at the inn. Naie hung his violin on the button under his coat, ready to +go to sleep in the barn of the inn. The Boyar stopped him and called to +the innkeeper. + +“Give Naie food. I may want him to play tonight for us.” + +The gypsy was served at the end of the room, while the peasants, +standing on their feet, assured the Boyar of their devotion. When they +had convinced him of that, they all sat down to talk. Gavril leaned +over with his two hands on the table, and sticking his bearded face +right under the eyes of the Boyar, said: + +“We all love you. And your grandfather and father and you, yourself, +have always been the best of Boyars to us. The rent of your land +is cheaper than anywhere, and you have always been kind to us. But +we would not, any of us, come near to any of the machines you have +brought. This land here has been plowed with the plow pulled by oxen. +We have sown the wheat with our own hands. We have harvested it with +our scythes and threshed it on the threshing floor with our horses. +That is what peasants are born for. To do all this work. It has been so +since Adam. And if the Nemtzia Germans or the people from another part +of the world want to do otherwise, let them do it.” + +“Have I spoken right?” Gavril turned around, looking at the other +peasants. + +“He has spoken right,” they answered, nodding their heads. “He has +spoken our own hearts.” + +The whole night long Boyar Robu tried to convince his men that the +binding machines he had from America, and which were rusting in the +shed, were not the work of the devil, but the work of man’s brains. +He explained to them how they worked, how the steel fingers of the +binding apparatus were catching the Manila thread, and bringing it +around the sheaf after it had been lifted from the cutting platform on +the rolling canvas. + +But it was all in vain. Stolid, obstinate, the men refused to believe +it was so simple. The priest was silent, but the peasants knew he sided +with them. And even after the Boyar had explained that their poverty +was due to the fact that wheat and corn were sown and harvested in +other countries in different ways, they refused to understand. If it +was God’s will that they live in poverty it was God’s will. + +Without the help of the peasants on his enormous wheatfields the +Boyar’s desire to expand by cultivating all the land he owned was an +empty dream. The peasants were tenants. They paid the rent for their +land by so many days of work in the Boyar’s fields. He could not ask +more days than was the custom for each acre. If one took more land he +needed more time for his own fields. If one cultivated only a little +land, he owed him fewer days. + +Their own fields being comparatively small, it was easy for them to +harvest their wheat in a few days, and thresh it leisurely on their +threshing floors. But it was not so with his fields. The locusts not +having spared him, he, too, had had many bad years. + +Attracted by the odor of ripe wheat, the locusts might arrive before +he had had a chance to harvest his 400 acres of wheat. He had sown so +much, hoping to recoup his losses of former years. He had bought the +machines to save himself from ruin. The only thing that could save +him was speedy work. And yet he could not ask the peasants to go in +with their scythes in his field before they had cut theirs. With the +machines the work could be done in a few days. + +But they were unwilling, and even when in the stress of pleading with +them he, Robu, the son of the oldest of the Boyars in the neighborhood, +cried before them, they wept together with him, but would not do as he +asked them to. + +“Why,” he said, “I’ll lend you my machines. They will cut your wheat, +all of yours, in two days without much trouble. I can thresh your wheat +and get half as much more out of the sheaves than you would get on the +threshing floors. You would get more time and more money. More wheat.” + +But the peasants shook their stubborn heads. Machines were the work of +the devil. All the diseases and all the ills of the world were caused +by the machines with which men wanted to do more work than God had +ordained should be done. + +Unable to convince them, although he had used the arguments that had +been made to him at the time he had bought the machines at the capital +of the country, Boyar Robu called Naie to him. + +“Go to your homes. Leave me alone here with Naie.” + +In the dim light of the oil lamp hanging from the low-beamed ceiling, +the air heavy with the odors of boots and quarters of meat and blankets +and chains and plowshares, the Boyar and the gypsy remained the whole +night long. + +The peasants were already going out into the fields singing the harvest +song, holding the glittering blue steel of the scythes to the sun, with +the girls beating the bottoms of empty pots and throwing water, from +the pails they were carrying, at one another, when the Boyar and the +gipsy went up the road toward his _curte_ at the end of the village. + +Boyar Robu still repeated: + +“Fools! Fools! You don’t want to work with my machines!” + +Later, Boyar Robu rode out on his horse to see how the harvesting +in the peasants’ fields was going on. The work was being done very +rapidly. Everybody from every hut had turned out. Backs bent roundly +as the swishing scythes rose and fell and left broad paths of gold on +the ground. The smell of the wheat and the song of sharp steel against +dried blades mingled with the chant of the men and the cuckoo calls +from the forest. + +Everywhere there was song. And everywhere Boyar Robu was greeted, “We +shall get into your field tomorrow morning, Boyar. We’ll cut it ere the +locusts will come, never fear!” + +For they all loved him, though they regretted that he wanted to do +what nobody had ever done before. It was all because of John Petrianu, +the cruel Petrianu, whose fields were a few miles away. He had bought +machines and compelled his men to work them at the point of a pistol. + +The Boyar nodded his head, accepting their generosity and their +mirthfulness. Yet, as he looked at the fields, he thought how easily +the whole thing could be done with his two machines. + +Having made the rounds, he returned to the shed to look at the rusting +monsters on which the name of the harvesting company was lettered with +gold upon red boards. It amused him to read the words in English and +their translation below into Roumanian, “Harvesting Machine Company,” +and, underneath, “Chicago, Illinois.” + +He mused about the country they came from as he looked at them. He +had seen such machines work in the fields of Petrianu, his neighbor. +How pretty it was to see them run through and cut and bind and drop +the sheaves of equal thickness, file by file, one after the other. +How had Petrianu succeeded to get his men to work them? He was a hard +man, Petrianu was.... He had ordered and it was done. Boyar Robu had +heard tales of brutalities he did not believe ... yet.... It was all so +simple! Why should these fools think there was any ungodly thing that +made this iron and steel work? + +Early the following morning, as soon as the heat of the sun had dried +up the dew of the night on the fields, the peasants came singing +down the road. Ranging themselves up on the outside of Boyar Robu’s +wheatfield, they crossed themselves; then, bending their backs, their +hundred or more glistening hard-steel scythes came down obliquely in +one large movement into the wheatfield. + +“Heigh! Ho! Heigh! Ho!” they sang loudly, marking the rhythm of the +first strokes as they advanced breast deep into the gold. The women, +their skirts held upon the side by the narrow red sash, followed in +their bare feet, to glean and bind into sheaves what fell behind their +men. + +Boyar Robu arrived on horseback. The devotion of his peasants moved him +deeply. His ancestral worship of field work stirred within him. There +were several scythes lying idle at the edge of the field, prepared in +case one should break or some mishap should happen to a handle. He +threw off his black coat, the only garb that distinguished him from the +peasants, and, taking one of the scythes after passing the oilstone +over its edge, he went to work amongst his men. + +They kept on working until late after sundown. Then they measured what +they had done. It would take from eight to ten days to complete the +harvest. + +On arriving home, Boyar Robu, who was living alone with his sister and +several house servants, found a slim young man sitting on his porch +peacefully smoking a short pipe. The man was dressed in European garb, +and because his face was cleanly shaven, a thing never seen in that +part of the country, Boyar Robu was uncertain as to the age or the +business of the man. + +Ileana, Boyar Robu’s sister, twenty, full-bosomed and long-limbed, +with big brown eyes and long black straight hair, rushed out to meet +her brother. + +“He came hours ago,” she told him, “this man there. And he asked about +you in a language I do not understand, but which I think is English. He +sits there and waits and waits.” + +He smiled and remembered the “Ta Ra Ra, Boom De Ay” song, with “Oh, +yes, Oh, yes.” These were the only English words, except “Mister,” he +had ever heard. He approached, the man stood up, very much at his ease, +and offered his hand saying, “James Allison.” + +The two shook hands. Boyar Robu asked, “Oh, yes? Oh, yes?” + +“You speak English?” James Allison wondered, hearing the two words. + +“Oh, yes. Oh, yes,” Boyar Robu answered, and laughed broadly. + +The clean-shaven man smiled at him and patted him patronizingly on the +shoulder, and then launched into a long, loud speech, which the other +did not understand, to explain that he was the demonstrator of the +machines Boyar Robu had bought the year before. + +The Boyar listened politely to the end and then raised his hands over +his head and bowed as a sign that he had not understood a word. But he +did manage to ask Mr. James Allison whether he was hungry and thirsty. +James Allison understood. He was famished, having arrived hours before, +after a long journey from the Constanza branch of the company, to find +out why they had never heard from the Boyar after he had bought the +machines. + +The Boyar, his sister, and the stranger sat down at the table to eat. +They ate in silence, the Boyar being too polite to talk to his sister +in a language the other man did not understand. Finally Boyar Robu +asked James Allison, “Français?” + +The other man shook his head. “American.” + +That single word shed considerable light on the situation. “Harvesting +Machine Company, Chicago?” Robu Boyar questioned, mispronouncing every +word. + +“Yes,” James Allison answered gaily. “Harvesting Machine Company.” + +Then they looked at one another and the three burst out in loud +laughter. They sat on the veranda, laughing, smiling, with the tacit +mutual understanding that the morrow was to bring some explanation +between them. + +Peasants passed back and forth, seemingly to say good evening or to +report something to the Boyar, but in reality to have a look at this +strange man of whose appearance they had heard at the inn. + +When the village had quieted, the Boyar looked at his guest and looked +at Ileana. + +With sign language, he then turned to his guest and asked him whether +he was ready to sleep. Allison picked up his big brown bag he had left +outside the door and nodded his head. He was ready. He was shown to his +room. Ileana remained on the veranda, thinking of the distant land from +where that man came; a land where men sheared off the glory of their +faces. And yet that face had clean lines of chin and nose, and the lips +were firm. + +How did he compare with John Petrianu? She was waiting for him. She +expected him. He had been coming to see her almost daily and would tell +her of the lands he had been in and the countries he had visited all +over the continent. He had seen much. He knew much, Petrianu did. + +John Petrianu was of a different kind from Boyar Robu. The Petrianus +were not of peasant stock as the Robus were. Therefore, they did +not have the same attitude toward the peasants. For generations the +peasants had been serfs. Ordinarily they had been treated little better +than cattle and, regarded as such, they were expected to do the bidding +of a Boyar. It was one of the things Ileana held against Petrianu. He +never spoke with love of his people. + +Presently Ileana heard the gallop of his horse. It stopped in front of +the house, and he came down to sit near her. + +“John,” Ileana said, as soon as the greetings were over, “there is a +man upstairs with a clean-shaven face who comes from America, from the +land where they make the machines that are rusting in our shed. He +does not understand our language. We do not understand his. We do not +know what to make of the reason for his coming. Do talk to him in the +morning, if you have time to come here.” + +John was anxious to have occasion to prove his superiority. He knew a +little English, having lived in England a short while. + +“I shall come over in the morning,” John assured Ileana, “and I shall +help that brother of yours come to his senses. There is no other way of +dealing with peasants than forcing them to do what you want. Afterward +they understand. Look at your farm! With three times as much ground +as I cultivate, you do not produce half the amount. Just because Robu +wants to be good to the peasants.” + +They talked long into the night. John was explaining how one should +deal with peasants in order to gain ascendancy over them. And as he +talked and Ileana defended her people he slowly gained over her. +His strength, his purpose, his decision were compelling. While he, +realizing how he grew in her eyes, became stronger and more decided. It +was not that he loved her so much. He needed someone of the other sex +on whom to exercise his superiority. She became dearer to him when he +felt he was convincing her. + +When Boyar Robu arose the following morning he found James Allison in +a pair of overalls and a cap which he wore with the visor on his neck. +He had already found out the shed in which the two harvesting machines +were housed and was pottering around them. + +The two men greeted one another, each in his language. They smiled in +understanding. Meanwhile, the peasants passed them by, going out to +the distant fields. The scythes were hanging from their shoulders. And +as he saw them, Boyar Robu raged that he shouldn’t be able to use the +machines. + +At that moment John Petrianu, dressed in his best riding garb, with +waxed mustache, freshly shaven face, and oiled hair, came trotting down +on his proudest horse. Ileana had heard him and was herself presently +down among the three men. James Allison was so happy to find someone +who understood him, he shook John Petrianu’s hand with both of his. + +“Finally someone I can talk to,” he repeated over and over again. “Now +tell me what is the trouble here. Why don’t they use these machines?” + +“It is because his peasants refuse to handle them,” Petrianu answered. +“I have some on my farm from your company, and they work well. I have +had my troubles with them, but it is all over now.” + +“Why,” Allison said, “all we have to do is to prove to them that they +are easy to handle and more economical.” + +He was a demonstrator, James Allison, and he had come down to +demonstrate. Should he succeed in changing the opinion of the peasants, +hundreds and hundreds of machines could be sold in that territory. + +Petrianu, Ileana and James Allison looked at one another. Suddenly +Petrianu spoke to Robu. + +“You have been too soft with your men. It is why they would not listen +to you. Go back to your room. Let them not see you at all. Let me deal +with them.” + +He stretched to his full height and looked for approval on Ileana’s +side. He knew by the gesture of Robu that he had won him over. She +looked admiringly at John. Yet, after a few moments, she paused to say: + +“On condition, John Petrianu, that you should not be brutal to them. We +have been hearing of the way you deal with your people occasionally.” + +“It takes a strong hand; it takes a strong hand to handle them,” he +answered, still flushed and drunk by his anticipation of being able to +show his power over men. + +Allison had been measuring up Ileana. In spite of the proffered +assistance from Petrianu there was something about the man he did not +like; a harshness of tone that went against the American’s grain. + +Allison had seldom before seen the kind of beauty Ileana possessed. +Strong, robust, kind, with brown eyes and a milky white face, the head +set perfectly on wide shoulders. + +“We go to the field,” Petrianu said. + +Then he called to one of the servitors of the house, who had come with +Ileana, to saddle two horses: one for the American and one for Ileana. +Had Robu asked his man for a similar service he would have added some +polite words. Petrianu’s words were shot out like crisp whip lashes. +When the horses had been brought out saddled, and they were mounted, +Petrianu again turned to the servitors. + +“And let four oxen be yoked to each of the two machines in the shed,” +he ordered. + +The two servitors crossed themselves and bowed deeply, but they made +no movement to execute the orders. They looked appealingly in the +direction where Robu had disappeared. + +“Do not look there!” Petrianu thundered. “I am the master here now! Do +what I tell you!” + +Ileana began to tremble. She looked with appealing eyes to James +Allison, who did not understand what she meant, except that he knew +that she was afraid something dreadful might take place. Petrianu was +standing before the men with his nervous hand upon the short handle of +the braided whip, forcing them to put the yokes on the necks of the +oxen. + +James Allison was mad with rage. But he had been sent there as a +demonstrator. That man was helping him. If it needed a show of force to +convince the peasants, well, let it be used. + +Trembling and crossing themselves over and over again, the two +servitors yoked the oxen. Still walking after them with his horse +broadwise, Petrianu pushed oxen and men to the machines. + +“Drive on!” Petrianu ordered. + +The spiked wheels of the machines began to clatter down the road, one +after the other, with Petrianu, Jim Allison, and Ileana riding back of +them. Occasionally Petrianu would drive alongside of the men and talk +to them harshly, twisting the lash of his whip as he talked. + +Rumbling and clattering, the machines arrived at the wheatfield. The +two drivers had no sooner seen their people than they plunged amongst +them, crossing themselves and weeping. Instantly the song of the +scythe against the ripe wheat ceased. The gleaning women, the colored +beetles in the gold stubble, unbent their backs. There was silence. +Why was Petrianu, the cruel Petrianu, of whom they had all heard, and +this American, come with these machines now to the fields they were +harvesting? And where was Boyar Robu? + +Petrianu advanced toward the two men, who had abandoned the machines. +Without a word his whip came down upon the shoulder of the first man, +an elderly white-bearded peasant. + +The peasant screamed in horror and withdrew a few paces. Petrianu’s +whip had already come down upon the other man, and he raised it for the +third time. Ileana cried out in anguish. + +Jim Allison forgot that he was there to demonstrate the working of his +machines. Suddenly, although the other man was much the heavier and +taller, he sprang upon him like a cat. With one well-directed blow he +sent him sprawling on the ground. Petrianu rolled over and, reaching +into his riding boot, he jumped up with an open drawn dagger in his +hand. + +Jim Allison forgot everything. The sight of the weapon in the other +man’s hand drove him almost insane with fury. He felt the warm drip +of blood from a gash in his face; and, as they were fighting, he felt +blood dripping down from the upper part of his arm. + +Ileana screamed. The unarmed man, the boy from the other seas, +faced the big and powerful Petrianu, who had a knife in his hand. +The peasants stood aside watching the contest, all siding with the +stranger, for they understood he had jumped to the rescue of one of +their men. And they wondered how so light a man should dare fight so +powerful a man who had a knife in his hand. + +The two men were rolling over each other. Allison’s hands were not free +to hit, for he was holding the wrist of the other man’s dagger hand. +And as the fight went on an unspeakable hatred for Petrianu rose in +the hearts of the peasants. Allison had succeeded in taking the weapon +out of the other man’s hand. Petrianu lay there, bruised and beaten, +fumbling in his hip pocket. Taking their scythes in hand the peasants +advanced toward the man who was now slowly getting to his feet. + +As readily as he had come to the rescue of the peasants, Jim, +throwing the knife at a distance over his head, interposed his body +in protection of the man he had beaten. And then Jim spoke to them in +feverish language, calling them brothers and asking them to be men and +understand. In his ardor he had forgotten they were people of another +language. + +But the men listened. The women seemed to understand. + +“Get up, you coward!” Jim turned around to Petrianu, who had risen to +his feet. “Get up, and on your horse!” + +And when the men seemed appeased, Jim, with his bleeding arm and the +blood dripping from his cheek, put his arms around the necks of the two +men who had driven the oxen. + +“Come. Come,” he urged them. + +He looked around to see Ileana. She was gone. What mattered it? He +was a demonstrator. And the men were in a mood to do what he asked. +They turned around to the other peasants, who made a passage for the +machines. Jim seated himself on the seat of one while the man was +driving the oxen. + +The machine started its grumbling movement. The cutters sheared the +wheat blades low. The peasants ran after the machine to watch how it +operated. See, there a sheaf was piled up, the cord was passed around +it by the two steel fingers. The needle passed across and twisted the +cord into a knot. Another sheaf and another sheaf. Five. And then they +were all dropped softly to the ground. + +They had finished the first row when Boyar Robu arrived, riding near +his sister, who had gone to call him, afraid lest some mishap was to +befall Jim Allison. + +“He has killed him! He has killed him!” she cried. + +They found Jim peacefully starting the second row. He had tied a +handkerchief around the wound on his arm to stop its bleeding; and +he was continually staunching the wound on his cheek with the sleeve +he had torn off his shirt. It was his opportunity now. He had won +the confidence of the men. They were willing. He had been sent as +a demonstrator and he was demonstrating. He was demonstrating the +harvesting machine. + +Robu rode after him, and Ileana put her arms around him to get him off +the seat of the machine. He would not leave. The wound did not matter. + +But they did not understand. Ileana was deeply concerned about the +wounds he had received. She put her hands on his arm and her fingers +trembled as she touched him. His whole body trembled in response. But +he drove on to finish the other row. + +On returning to where the idle machine stood, with the oxen still yoked +to the pole, he motioned to Robu to sit down on the seat and set it in +movement. The two machines rode side by side, with the peasants jumping +from one to the other, looking and giving soft cries of wonderment at +the regularity with which the sheaves were bound and dropped steadily, +steadily. At the end of the row stood Ileana with a pail of water. And +this time she put her arms firmly around the stranger and almost lifted +him off the seat. She washed his wounds. + +Jim was happy. Not a muscle of his face moved as she cleaned the gaping +flesh of the deep knife wound in the upper part of his arm. Jim was +happy. For one of the younger peasants, who had watched the machine +while it had been pulled twice the length of the field, had now jumped +on the seat in his place and was driving forward, onward, with the +peasants and their wives running after it as the golden sheaves fell +and fell to the ground. They were all with their backs toward Jim and +Ileana. + +And then Jim in great joy jumped to his feet and, without knowing +exactly what he was doing, he threw his arms about the girl’s neck and +drew her to him and kissed her long upon the lips. She encircled his +waist with her arms and pressed him to herself. + +The following day Jim Allison wrote to the manager of his company: + + We are cutting four hundred acres of wheat with two machines Boyar + Robu bought last year. Please send immediately six pieces X-34 and 8 + L-56. + + I shall, however, remain a little longer here than I expected at + first, as I am marrying Boyar Robu’s sister. + + Yours, + James Allison. + + + + + SAVA + + +There were twenty men in Sava’s band: twenty resolute, black-bearded, +lean, hard men, each one capable of doing whatever was demanded of him +under any circumstances. Each one could ride a horse until the animal +fell down exhausted; each one could negotiate twenty miles of hills +and mountains in torrential rain or heavy snowstorm, and swim across a +river with a gun so fastened on the back of the head that the powder +in the barrels remained dry. Twenty men who could stand their ground +against forty, against fifty, against a hundred, and disappear in the +batting of an eye at a given signal, in as many different directions, +and know where and when to meet again in the crevice of a rock in the +mountains, or in the abandoned dugout of a she bear! + +For years Sava and his men had been peacefully smuggling silks from +the Hungarian side of the Carpathians over into Roumania, and tobacco +and linens from Roumania into Hungary. They carried the contraband on +their backs or strapped the packs on the saddles of the small Moldavian +ponies they rode. Customs guards and gendarmes on both sides had +watched them closely for years without ever catching them. + +Big Sava, the leader, was only thirty. And although his gait was as +young as that of a man of twenty, the steadiness of his eye and the +slowness of his speech gave his lean, dark, smooth face a much older +stamp. He could outdo his men at anything, although they were the pick +of the gypsy manhood of Roumania. + +Sava was the only unmarried man of his band. He danced with all the +maidens on Sunday at the inn when he was at home. He laughed and danced +and joked and sang with all of them. Many a time when the older men had +gone to sleep and the younger ones were yet too full of the joy of life +to go home or to leave the circle of dancers, Sava would remain with +two of the most beautiful girls of his tribe, one at his right and the +other at his left, and amuse himself watching the two women trying to +outdo each other in the game of husband catching. + +When the game had lasted long enough, he would tap his open palms and +tell them to run to their homes ere misfortune overtook them. For it +would be misfortune to marry a man who did not love them. The women +gone, Sava would sit alone somewhere under a tree and wonder when he +would feel what love really was like. He would pass in review all the +girls of his tribe. They were all beautiful, but there was not one he +preferred to another one--not one he longed to see when he was away, +not one whose nearness made him want to stay.... + +His own men watched and hoped every spring. They loved him and desired +to see him happy with a woman of their tribe. + +That winter Sava and his men had been detained on the Hungarian side of +the Carpathians by a terrific snowstorm that lasted two weeks. During +those two weeks they stayed at “Marga’s,” the inn of a young widow who +kept the only place of its kind in fifty miles around. + +When the storm had abated, the gendarmes learned that Sava and his men +were at Marga’s. They drew a cordon around them, firmly decided to +catch the gypsies red-handed in the act of smuggling. Sava resolved to +outpatience the gendarmes. He did not explain anything to his men. He +just remained there and slept and drank and danced and sang as he had +never done before. + +Somehow Marga, and even Sava’s own men, interpreted his actions +according to their own lights. Marga was convinced he remained there +because of her. As she was very much in love with the young gypsy she +began to cover him with little attentions and whisper in his willing +ears all the little gossip she could find out about the gendarmes. At +first there were twenty. Then she reported a hundred. In a few days +she reported the forest was full of them, two behind every tree. Sava +listened quietly and smiled at her. + +Besides Sava and his men, there were twenty other men staying at the +inn. There were heavy-bearded shepherds with sheepskin coats reaching +to their soles, itinerant peddlers with feet wrapped in red rags, and +two gypsy fiddlers who had stumbled into the inn early one morning, +stiff and frozen, as if they had ridden on top of the storm to Marga’s +door. + +After the storm abated, the guests began to depart one by one. +Ultimately only Sava and his men remained with the two gypsy musicians, +the gendarmes still watching. + +Daily Sava’s men awaited orders from their chief. But Sava seemed to +have forgotten their existence and forgotten everything about the +gendarmes watching him. With the two musicians at his side, with the +buxom blue-eyed widow looking into his eyes as she filled his cup of +wine, he was oblivious of everything. Never before had he felt so warm +inside and out. He had no love for Marga, and he knew that. But he knew +that she felt for him what he had once felt for another woman, whom +he had been compelled to forget. He gloated in that bitter-sweet of +being loved without loving, as if he were avenging his soul for what +had happened once, many years before. He could order Marga around as he +wished without fear of losing her. He was master of her soul because he +was master of his own. + +His men came in and watched the spectacle. The glowing, full-bosomed, +round-armed young widow was holding a foaming pitcher to his empty +glass, while leaning her cheek against his. + +The younger gypsies proposed that they overcome the gendarmes and bind +them and tie up the widow or take her along with them, if Sava must +have her near him. They were long overdue at home. Their wives and +their children were weeping for them. Who knew but that Mara and Pania +and Fanutza had already married former lovers or other men! + +It was the beginning of March. Soon the melting of the snows would not +only make the underground passages impossible but even the paths in the +woods. The wolves and the bears were traveling in enormous packs. And +the gendarmes now entered the inn daily. + +One day Sava ordered the gypsy fiddlers to play in the center of +the room instead of playing right near him. The gendarmes, half +intoxicated, mingled freely with his men, talking and laughing. The +carbines of the men of the law were stacked in a corner. + +Suddenly Sava snapped his fingers. In a leap, each of his men possessed +himself of one of the weapons and at the same time directed it against +one of the gendarmes. Sava’s hands were the only ones free of any +weapons. While his men held the gendarmes at the points of the guns, +Sava paid his bill to Marga, whispering a few love words to her. And +then, turning around to the gendarmes, he said: + +“If you stay here quietly for an hour, one hour by my watch, you will +find all your guns stacked up at the foot of the mountain near the big +white boulder. And no one will know anything about it. If you come +after us, we’ll have to use the carbines, and you’ll lose them--and +lose other things besides. Remember, there are wives and children +waiting for you at home, but there are also wives and children waiting +for my men.” + +They placed the carbines near the white boulder as promised, then they +disappeared from the surface into a secret tunnel a hundred feet away +from the place where the gendarmes had camped without knowing that it +led through the mountains to the other side. + +There were loud huzzahs and hurrahs when Sava and his men returned +early one morning to their village. They had been overdue two months. +Pania was already allowing Yorga to come much nearer to her tent. +Fanutza and Mara were being considered young widows. + +And now Sava and his men were back, the men looking up at him with even +greater love and devotion than they had ever done before. It had to +be celebrated--with the best wine, the loudest shouting, the wildest +dancing. + +They were not ready to tell the story of how Sava had taken them away +from among the gendarmes. They interrupted themselves in the middle of +a tale with: “Oh, that can never be told!” + +It was a trick of theirs they had for effect, to tell one-half of the +tale. They let it be understood Sava was a supernatural being who could +do things no one else could do, things they could not even tell about. + +They feasted and celebrated for a whole month. There were many dances. +And many were the women who turned about Sava, trying to captivate +him. Whenever Sava would be near one of the girls who had forced her +attentions upon him, he would be waiting for that pleasant glow which +he experienced when in the nearness of Marga, the widow innkeeper. She +was not as beautiful as many of the girls of his own tribe, but he did +not feel in their presence what he felt in hers. She loved him for +what he was, not what he did. He felt they were giving him counterfeit +instead of the clink of real gold. + +When the wind and the sun had dried the roads a Turkish merchant, +coming from the other side of the Danube, brought them a load which +he wished carried across into Hungary. Sava and half of his men, +loaded with heavy packs, disappeared early one morning in different +directions. And though the place where they had to deliver the +merchandise was miles away from the inn of the widow, Sava found +himself quite involuntarily stepping in the direction of Marga’s inn. + +He told himself repeatedly he did not love her, that he went there only +because he knew she was waiting for him--for him only.... + +His men thought it was useless audacity to go to Marga, with gendarmes +watching about her place. At one point of the road a riding gendarme +whizzed by. The gypsies looked at one another and looked at their +chief. He answered with a broad smile and a nod of his head. He knew +that gendarme was riding at top speed to warn the others of their +coming. But the merchandise had already been delivered. + +They were all in the inn when he opened the door. He greeted them with +loud laughter. His running away had been a game. He and his men had +won. Sava offered them wine. + +“Let us drink like friends. What has been has been. Wine, Marga.” + +The gendarmes refused. Yet they were unwilling to pick a fight with the +gypsy, fearing that a far greater number than those who had come into +the inn were outside ready to pounce upon them if they should attack +Sava. They left the inn cursing and swearing. + +When they had gone, Sava leaned over the counter and spoke to Marga: + +“I have come to bid you good-morning. I had no time to bid you good-bye +last time. Let’s drink a glass together if you have forgiven me.” + +“Oh, Sava!” the widow answered, happy to touch his hand. “Let me drink +from your glass. Sava! Sava!” + +He looked deeply into her eyes as he held the glass to her lips, and +asked: + +“And if I had told you to come along with me, would you have come?” + +She raised her eyes to his and he read the answer: “To the end of the +world!” + +He remained leaning over the counter, looking at her. The warmth +emanating from her was so pleasant! Why did he not love her? What was +it that prevented him from loving her as she loved him? She was young. +She was beautiful! He did not love her. Yet he liked to be near her. +Why? + +Suddenly Marga awoke from her reverie. She bent Sava’s head to her lips +and whispered in his ear: + +“They have found out the underground passage. They have hidden a number +of gendarmes within the tunnel.” + +Sava looked at her gratefully, and called his men to him for a short +conversation. One by one they went out. Sava was the last one to leave. +He kissed the widow’s lips before going. + +The gypsy smugglers disappeared in different directions. But they met +a few minutes later near the narrow opening of the underground tunnel +in which the gendarmes were hidden. One by one, they crawled in, under +the eyes of Sava, who remained the last. Then he, too, crawled in and +disappeared in the black hole. + +Sava had hardly crawled in when gendarmes who had been hiding behind +trees followed the gypsies, crawling cautiously after them. + +The gypsies did not remain underground very long. They climbed out from +a side entrance to the tunnel a hundred paces from the first. Then they +blocked it up. And while half of Sava’s men were running at top speed +over the forest to close up the other end of the subterranean passage, +Sava and the others were hastily rolling huge boulders and stones to +close up the entrance into which the gendarmes had just disappeared. + +Leisurely, carrying the bags of contraband which had lain hidden in the +forest, the gypsies, headed by loud-singing Sava, marched single file +over the broad road across the border. The gendarmes were all safely +bottled up. + +When they reached their village, Sava’s men were prouder of their +leader than they had ever been, and told how he had tricked the +gendarmes and extricated them from their clutches. There were dances +on the fresh green grass, while the fiddlers, sitting on empty barrels, +were playing until their strings snapped and were singing at the top of +their voices. + +When the gaiety was at its height a tribe of horse-dealing gypsies +joined the merriment. They were from the Dobrudja, from the other side +of the Danube, where they had earned much gold in trading horses. + +The welcome to the guest tribe knew no bounds. The men threw their arms +about one another and patted one another’s shoulders. The women climbed +down from the tent wagons, helped by the women of Sava’s tribe, while +the young men watched them, and made comments as each one went down. + +“Hey, you black-tressed, long-faced beauty! Where did you get your +earrings?” + +“Hey, you! Did you steal your eyes from the night?” + +“Oh, there another one climbs down backward from the wagon, as if she +were an old woman. Are your feet of glass or are your kneecaps of +porcelain?” + +The young women of Sava’s tribe received their blood sisters with much +noise, fingered their dresses, looked at their jewels and inspected +their bracelets and anklets, their bejeweled fingers and necklaces. +They tugged at one another’s handkerchiefs and waved the fringes of the +shawls. The children of one tribe began to get acquainted with the +children of the other, vying with each other as to who could turn more +somersaults at a stretch. The dogs barked and nosed at the newcomers’ +dogs, then went out side by side to inspect the camp, for the odor of +broiled meats was rising in the air, mingling with the odor of fried +oil and garlic in which the tenderer morsels were already being stewed. + +Sava was standing near his men, occasionally smiling at a clever sally, +but never saying anything himself. When Tira, Chief Mincu’s daughter, +jumped down from the rear end of her father’s wagon there was a cry of +wonder from the throats of many men. She was no longer very young, as +gypsies go, perhaps twenty-five. Her face was round and full and quiet. +Her body, without being supple, was sinuous. Her movements were slow +and stately. Her big eyes looked the men over quietly and appraisingly +without any haste. Many a man lowered his head as she looked at him. +Her glance rested a little longer on Sava than it did upon the other +men. But it was only a fraction of a second that their eyes met. + +The other young men looked at Sava to see the effect of the woman upon +him, and realizing he had singled her out of all the women, they went +about to take part in the general gaiety that was being staged. A +little later, while the smoke was rising from the fire, and the savour +of steam from the pots, the two tribes mingled freely, the young men +from Chief Mincu’s tribe were already on terms of friendship with +the girls from Sava’s tribe, while Sava’s young men were joking and +laughing with the women of Mincu’s tribe. + +Sava approached the chief and, greeting, sat down near him, saying, “I +am Sava.” + +“Oh, you are Sava?” Mincu answered, shaking his hand vigorously again. +“They have just told me how you bottled the gendarmes up.” + +And the shrewd old gypsy trader shook with laughter as he thumped +Sava’s shoulder vigorously. Defeating the men of the law was great fun +for all gypsies. + +“And your daughter, what is her name?” Sava asked. + +“Tira,” Mincu answered. “And though there have been five hundred and +fifty men who have offered me wealth and riches that I should marry her +to them, she has so far chosen to remain alone.” + +He waxed enthusiastic. “In the Dobrudja a Tatar chief wanted to buy +her from me, offering all his sheep, a thousand in number, for her. A +Cherkess in Russia offered me, not very long ago, two of his best blood +horses, for which I had offered him a thousand pieces of gold, that I +should give her to him in marriage. She refused.” + +“A thousand pieces of gold!” Sava repeated incredulously. + +“A thousand pieces of gold,” Mincu asserted without flinching. + +“And are you her father or her slave?” Sava questioned, looking the +older man in the eyes. + +“Her father,” Mincu answered. “But a woman like Tira should have her +word in the choice of a husband.” + +Sava looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, and rose to his feet. The +dance had already begun. He walked slowly up to Tira and extended his +right arm for her left one, to join with her in the circle that was +already turning around to slow music, gathering speed for the whirl in +which it should end. + +With all her plumpness, she was as light as a feather. And her feet +executed quick movements in the air before they were brought down +again to the earth, as they turned around and around while the men +were yelling “Hi! Hey!” from the fullness of their throats. At the +completion of the circle one of the women was called upon to step out +into the center of the circle to do a solo dance while the others +turned around and around and clapped their hands: + +“Mara! Mara! Mara! Mara!” + +And Mara stepped out and danced. When Mara had returned to join arms +with her partner another one was called. The young men and women of the +other tribe were given first call, so that they might show the mettle +of which they were made. + +After the fourth round, the youth of Sava’s tribe began to call on Tira +to step out and dance: + +“Tira! Tira! Tira! Tira!” + +Like a tiger Tira leaped into the center of the circle. Spinning like a +top with her arms extended in front of her, she came to a dead stop, +only to begin the same spin in the opposite direction. Her feet hardly +touched the ground, while her head turned this side and that, looking +at all of them provokingly, tantalizingly. When the music slowed up, +she clasped her hands at her back, bringing her shoulders forward, +and glided snakewise along the inner rim of the circle, measuring and +weighing with her eyes the men of the other tribe. + +When she reached Sava, she looked at him longer than at the others, and +spinning around once more, she leaped as vigorously back to her place +as she had broken out of it. There was no fatigue in her eyes. They +were more luminous than before. Only the bosom rose and fell a little +faster and the veins of her throat thickened. + +There was a loud cry of admiration. Even the older men and women, +forming an outer ring about the young people, were clapping their hands +and calling loudly her name: “Tira! Tira! Tira!” + +When the dance was over Sava tugged at Tira’s father’s coat. + +“That we drink a glass of wine together, _cumetru_, father-in-law. Come +where the wine is served.” + +Mincu looked into Sava’s eyes as he rose to follow him. + +“It is about Tira that I want to speak,” Sava said, after clinking +glasses. + +“What can you tell me of her that I do not already know?” the girl’s +father laughed. + +“You spoke of a thousand gold pieces, Mincu. But you meant silver +pieces, did you not?” + +“I spoke of a thousand gold pieces, which I have refused,” Mincu +answered, putting down the empty glass. + +“Maybe another glass of wine will teach you the difference between gold +and silver,” Sava replied, winking at his men as he poured more wine +for Mincu. + +“The difference, my son, is the difference between you and me,” Mincu +rejoined, while the people called out with admiration: + +“Hey, Mincu! That’s Mincu!” + +The two tribes assembled about the two bargaining men. They forgot +even what the bargaining was about. It was just a contest of wits. The +two men were looking at each other silently, each one watching for the +other to make an opening. + +“Where is blind Jorga, that he tell me a story?” Mincu called +mockingly, having lost patience. + +“Leave blind Jorga out of that,” Sava answered in anger. + +Mincu caught the eye of his daughter. + +“If you talk about silver you will drain the wine of the country before +I say another word.” + +“Gold! Gold!” called Mincu’s men. + +“Then gold it shall be,” Sava answered, and taking from his belt a +heavy purse he tendered it to Mincu. “There are a hundred pieces of +gold here. What say you?” + +In answer to Sava’s offer Mincu turned his back and spoke to his men. + +“Harness up. Another few hours we shall reach Ploesti and be received +by our own people.” + +Sava looked at Tira, who returned his glance without flinching. + +“And so a thousand gold pieces were offered and you refused?” + +“It was the man I refused and not the gold,” Tira answered angrily. +“You should have come to me first.” + +She turned her back and left him. + +Sava sat down on his heels and watched how Mincu and his men were +harnessing their horses. Sava’s men were happy to see him so interested +in a woman. They were anxious to see him settled with a family. It was +no good having a chief without a wife and not knowing where his eyes +might cast about for one. + +Sava called the oldest men of his tribe and spoke to them softly. The +old men approached Mincu with great ceremony. + +“Pass this night with us, pray. It is too late to reach Ploesti before +nightfall. There have been heavy rains in the mountains, and the ground +is still soggy. There is meat aplenty here, and wine, and the strings +of the fiddles have not all snapped.” + +Mincu resisted, claiming that he could reach Ploesti with the kind of +horses he had, no matter what the roads were. But ultimately the old +men and the people of Sava’s tribe prevailed upon the guests to stay +overnight. + +Mincu unbuttoned his coat in preparation for the new glass of wine. +Tira was sitting at the end of her wagon, her legs dangling. + +“To show that I am grateful that you have remained here with us, Mincu, +I will offer you two hundred gold pieces,” Sava said. + +Mincu shook his head and answered in reproachful accents, “I have +remained as a guest and not as a trader.” + +“Three hundred,” Sava called out, to the amazement of his men. + +And then, as Mincu still shook his head, Sava called out in quick +succession: “Four hundred. Five hundred.” + +Mincu turned around and looked at his daughter, who shook her head +negatively. + +“That is not half enough. I would willingly take it if it were my +daughter’s will. It would be worth the difference between that and a +thousand for me for the happiness of my daughter. But she is unwilling, +Sava.” + +Sava moved away from the chief and sat down near Tira. Never before had +he been so electrified as he was by the nearness of that woman beside +him. + +“And so you urge your father to refuse five hundred gold pieces that +you become my wife,” he asked, looking into her eyes. + +“I would tell him to refuse a thousand,” Tira answered calmly. “You +should have spoken to me first,” she added. + +Sava left her and went to talk with his men. The night was long. If her +father was a trader, he, too, was one. No one should be able to say, +“Mincu has bested Sava in a bargain!” He knew that his people would ply +Mincu with wine to soften him into a better bargain. + +Late that night Tira was still dangling her feet from the rear end of +the wagon. She was talking to her father. Sava could not hear what she +said to him, but he heard Mincu argue with her heatedly. + +It looked as though his men had brought Mincu to reason. He regretted +he had offered five hundred gold pieces for the girl. Perhaps if he had +stopped at four hundred! Or even three hundred! It was not only the +money, but to be beaten in a bargain by another man! + +Mincu was half drunk now. He put his two hands on Sava’s shoulders and +said: + +“I talked to Tira. She says she won’t have you, that I should not sell +her to you. And I so much want to have you for my son, Sava. But she +won’t have you. Oh, women! Who can ever tell what is in their hearts. +Who can? Fill my glass, men; fill it.” + +“What kind of a father are you?” Sava questioned. + +“Yes, what kind of a father are you that you cannot tell her what to +do?” Sava’s people shouted. “Tell us! Are you her slave or her master?” + +“It is not only that,” Mincu rejoined. “But if it is to get her a +husband she does not want I can turn around and get the thousand gold +pieces the Cherkess has offered, or the two horses I wanted so much.” + +He had sobered up the moment he was again bargaining. Drunk or sober, +he was a trader. + +“I have offered you five hundred. I am offering six hundred now,” Sava +called out. + +Mincu’s eyes brightened, but he still shook his head. + +“Seven hundred,” called out Sava, after a brief moment. “It is all I +have!” + +“Then wait a few more years,” Mincu answered jestingly. “Don’t give +away all you have!” + +Sava sank into himself. It really was all he possessed. He would +willingly have offered more. What did money count against the +possession of such a woman as Tira? Her pale, round face shamed the +moon. Her eyes gave more warmth than the fire that was burning and +crackling. + +Blind Jorga edged up to Sava. “When I last saw thee thou wert no higher +than my knees. But I know thee and have listened to thy voice during +all the years. Take this.” And he put his purse into Sava’s hands. “It +is all I have. Offer that also for the woman thou lovest.” + +Sava’s friends saw Jorga put his purse into their chief’s hands and +were now ready to give all they possessed that he buy himself the woman +he loved. + +“Silence!” blind Jorga called. “He has offered seven hundred. He can +now offer a hundred more gold pieces. And by my beard, he will not +offer more! Mincu! Where is Mincu!” + +“If it is to marry her to a man she does not want why should I take +eight hundred when a thousand has been offered to me?” Mincu answered. + +Another gypsy put his purse into Sava’s hands. “It is fifty gold +pieces. All I have.” + +And those fifty were offered to Mincu. + +Then one after another the other men gave, each one everything he +possessed, until the full sum of a thousand gold pieces was reached. + +“There is a thousand,” Jorga called out joyfully, for he was conducting +the deal. + +At the loud huzzas of the people, Tira joined the circle. + +“It is a thousand gold pieces they have offered for you, Tira, and I +have accepted.” + +Sava looked at her. He was happy, not only because he had bought +her for a thousand gold pieces, but also because his people had so +self-sacrificingly offered of their own free will the money they had +saved in long years of dangerous toil. He was proud of their love for +him. He felt stronger than he had ever felt before--as if all their +strength had joined his. He looked at them with tears in his eyes. He +looked at her. She was angry, defiant. She could not understand that if +she was worth a thousand gold pieces to him she was worth all the gold +in the world to his people, and they to him more than that. + +Screaming at the top of her voice, Tira threw herself at her father’s +chest beating with her two fists. + +“Oh! To have sold me to a man I do not want! Oh! Oh! Oh! Against my +will. Against my will. He should have spoken to me first. To me. To me.” + +She tore her hair and clawed her breasts and face. That a daughter +should dare so to behave toward her father! But Sava’s whip will cow +her into a dutiful wife! + +They looked at Sava, expecting to see the joy of the prospective taming +of such a woman. But he stood with his eyes closed, and his face became +sadder and sadder as Tira’s rage grew. + +His mind climbed over the mountains to that other woman, to the young +widow whose love for him was so intense, who made him feel so sure of +himself. She was always waiting for him. + +What sort of woman would be waiting for him on his return from a +dangerous journey if he were to marry Tira? True, he could beat Tira +into submission. But he could not force love from her; not the kind of +love the other woman had for him. And he weighed and measured. Was the +nearness of the one who loves you not dearer than the nearness of the +one who does not? + +Meanwhile, Tira’s rage grew and grew. She clawed and cried and cursed. +Oh, it would be pleasant to tame her! The desire to tame her was +growing in him every second. He would have liked to begin right then +and there. But she was still Mincu’s daughter. She was not yet his +wife. + +She did not love him. He could see that. What kind of woman would await +his return from the other side of the mountains? He would come to +her with a heart full of love, tired, hungry, wounded. How would she +receive him? Marga, the widow, would be waiting for him--expecting him. + +The poet of the tribe, old Jorga, was chanting: “A thousand gold pieces +Sava pays for the woman he desires! That is the kind of men we have. +They pay everything they possess for the women they love. That is the +kind of men we are. When a man does not have all the money, all the +gold, we give it to him, that he purchase his heart’s desire.” + +They had meanwhile dragged Tira to the wedding rug. She had suddenly +quieted down and was awaiting Sava in the center of the weave. She had +dried her tears and was straightening her hair while the men and women +shouted and laughed. + +“Sava, give Mincu your purse that he give you the hand of his +daughter,” Jorga asked, fumbling for Sava’s hand. + +Sava remained silent. His eyes had a far-away look.... Suddenly he +looked with searching eyes into the face of Tira. + +“Bring me my horse,” he called to one of his men. “Let her marry the +man she loves. I am going to fetch here the woman who loves me!” + +And, throwing the purse into Jorga’s hands, he turned to Mincu and +called: “It is a bad bargain you have driven, Mincu. A woman like her +is worth ten times a thousand gold pieces--to the man she loves. But +she will only be anguish and death to the man she does not love! If you +hate the Cherkess, sell her to him.” + +And Sava sped his way across the mountains to the woman who was ever +waiting for him. + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + + Hyphenation has been retained as in the original publication. + p.28: “though” --> “thought” (he thought how). + p.28: “Petrinau” --> “Petrianu” (hard man, Petrianu was...). + p.42: “she bear” has been retained as in the original publication + (she bear). + p.47: “understod” --> “understood” (They let it be understood). + p.58: “loked” --> “looked” (turned around and looked). + p.59: “he” --> “be” (but to be beaten). + p.62: “Meanwhile.” --> “Meanwhile,” (Meanwhile, Tira’s rage). + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78341 *** diff --git a/78341-h/78341-h.htm b/78341-h/78341-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3d4f0ea --- /dev/null +++ b/78341-h/78341-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2673 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="format-detection" content="telephone=no,date=no,address=no,email=no,url=no"> + <title> + Stories of Gypsy Life | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .5em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +.noindent { text-indent: 0; } + +.p2 { text-indent: 0; padding-right: 1.5em; } +.p4 { text-indent: 0; padding-right: 4em; } + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +#toc +{ + margin: auto; +} + +#toc th +{ + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + font-size: small; +} + +#toc td +{ + padding-top: 0.75em; + vertical-align: top; +} + +#toc td.right +{ + text-align: right; + padding-left: 3em; + vertical-align: bottom; +} + +#toc a:link +{ + text-decoration: none; +} + + +blockquote { + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78341 ***</div> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> + + +<p class="center noindent">LITTLE BLUE BOOK NO. <b>1492</b><br> +Edited by E. Haldeman-Julius</p> + +<h1 class="center">Stories of Gypsy Life</h1> + +<p class="center"><b>Konrad Bercovici</b></p> + +<p class="center">HALDEMAN-JULIUS PUBLICATIONS<br> +GIRARD, KANSAS</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span></p> + + +<p class="center">Copyright, 1929,<br> +Doubleday, Doran Co.<br> +Published by Arrangement</p> + +<p class="center">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak"> + CONTENTS + </h2> +</div> + + +<table> +<tr> + <th> </th> + <th>Page</th> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>The Mill on the River</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#THE_MILL_ON_THE_RIVER">5</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Ripe Wheat</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#RIPE_WHEAT">20</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td>Sava</td> + <td class="right"><a href="#SAVA">42</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a><a id="Page_5"></a>[Pg 5]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak"> + STORIES OF GYPSY LIFE + </h2> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_MILL_ON_THE_RIVER"> + THE MILL ON THE RIVER + </h2> +</div> + + +<p>It was an old mill, Dimitru’s mill on the Bistritza +River. It had been run by the family of +Dimitru long before any other mills had ever +been put on either side of the river, all through +the Moldavia country. The dykes and the +water wheels were of old oak, cut from trees +in the forest when the country paid yearly +tribute to Turkey and was ruled by the Fanariots +of Stamboul.</p> + +<p>Within the mill were fifty pairs of millstones +which, grinding wheat and corn, had themselves +been ground so thin that they had no +weight to mill any more the hard grain growing +in that part of Roumania. These old millstones +were the pride of the family, for not +another mill in the country could show so +many.</p> + +<p>When anybody said anything about Dimitru’s +mill or the manner in which he milled, the tall, +black-bearded, wide-chested, brown-eyed miller +would stretch to his full height, and pounding +the left side of his chest with his right hand, +he would cry:</p> + +<p>“Look at these stones! Fifty pair of stones +have ground flour in this mill. I myself have +used five pair. This is the sixth one on the +shaft.”</p> + +<p>Those millstones were like arms of the +escutcheon of a nobleman, which no man was +allowed to impugn.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span></p> + +<p>At the inn Dimitru was looked upon with +respect by the peasants. He was one of the +oldest inhabitants of the village. Indeed, the +village itself, clustered as it was about the +mill, was known as Dimitru’s Mill Village. For +not only did they mill flour there, but they cut +logs that were let down from the heights of +the Carpathians early every spring, and they +pressed oil out of pumpkin seeds, and carded +wool, and even worked things out at a lathe +which Dimitru himself had installed there; at +first merely to satisfy a whim he had had after +he had first seen a lathe work in another village, +and then, as he grew more proficient, to +make furniture for most of the people in the +village. Back of the mill there was a shop in +which carts and wheels were made, and chairs +and tables; and even small husking machines, +patterned after one that had been bought in +Austria. The water wheel provided the power +for all the work.</p> + +<p>The inn, the church, the school, the mayor’s +office, the situation of every building was +reckoned by its distance from the mill. During +the winter, when there was only little work to +do, the elders of the village would assemble in +the mill, and watching the still in which the +mash of plums and pears, grown in the neighborhood, +was distilled into spirits, watching +the drops fall into the receptacle that sat under +the long copper worm, they would tell the +tales they had heard from their mothers and +grandmothers, who in turn had heard them +from their parents and grandparents—stories +of visitations of wolves; tales of sorceries, of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>witches which had risen up riding in the air +on broomsticks, and of horses that could run +so fast they disappeared from sight in less +time than it takes to blink an eye. They recalled +the different battles—battles with the +Turks, battles with the Russians, battles with +the Hungarians; births of five-legged calves +and two-headed chickens, and the reappearances +of deceased men whose ghosts were forever +roaming about this, that and the other +place.</p> + +<p>Dimitru repeated an old tale of his own family, +of how the stones of his mill had stopped +once by themselves while some corn was being +ground. From behind the stones groaned a +voice which was recognized as being the voice +of Vasili, Vasili Yoan Stefans, who had died +only a few months before.</p> + +<p>“Mill not this corn,” the voice had called. +“It has been stolen from my granary by Panait, +the Greek. Give it back to my wife lest my +children starve this winter.”</p> + +<p>The millstones refused to budge or turn until +every grain of flour which had already been +ground was swept out clean and returned to +the bag from which the corn had been taken. +And even then the stones would not move, +although the water wheels turned and everything +else was in motion. The wool was being +carded, the logs were being sawn; only the +millstones refused to turn. Not until the +widow had been called and the corn belonging +to her had been returned, and not until Panait +had confessed to stealing the grain, had the +stones turned again.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span></p> + +<p>And there were many tales, similar to that +one, centered about the mill. For the mill had +also refused to grind grain when the Russians +had invaded the country a century ago, and +had refused to grind when the Turks had come. +It was the mill on the Bistritza that ground +wheat and corn and pressed oil and sawed logs +and turned the lathe only for those belonging +to the land. And Dimitru was the owner of +that mill.</p> + +<p>Dimitru had a son, and a daughter whom he +had married off when very young. The son, +like all the sons back in the family, was preparing +himself to take over the mill of his +father when the time should come. For even +if he were to take a wife while his father was +yet alive, there was enough room for him and +his wife in the house. And even if he were to +raise a family, there was enough room and +enough field for him to pasture his dowry of +cows and sheep, and to raise enough fodder +for them. He had indeed already taken off a +good deal of the burden of his father, for while +the old man busied himself with his cart shop, +preferring the lathe to the mill, George was in +complete charge of the stones. And he was as +good a miller as his father.</p> + +<p>But although he joked and played around +with most of the young girls who came to the +mill, although he danced with all of them at +the inn, teasing, singing, joking with them, +there was not one who could say that he was +giving her preference over the others. Tall, +dark, with big brown eyes, the lashes of which +were always covered with a thin white powder, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>the dark, tufty brows looking like those of an +old man because of a fine flour powder always +on them, he was a good dancer, and his voice +rose above the voices of the others when any +singing was being done at the inn. At the +wrestling matches on Sunday there were few +youngsters who dared to match him. And he +was gay and always happy. And it was known +that although he was allowed to take one-tenth +of the flour he milled, in payment for +milling it, from everybody, he took only half +that amount, and sometimes not even that +from the poor and the widows of the country. +Indeed, many a widow had brought half a bag +of corn and returned home with a full bag of +corn flour, George yelling at the top of his +voice, when the widow claimed there had been +some mistake, that he was an honest miller.</p> + +<p>“You have brought one bag of corn and not +two, widow of Jorga,” he would silence the +protesting woman, not giving her any chance +or time to explain herself.</p> + +<p>“You have brought one bag, and I know you +have brought only one bag! Am I a miller, or +a thief, or what?” he would shout, and show +great anger, as he would push her out of the +mill.</p> + +<p>One winter night, while the wind was howling, +and the water wheel, raised from the +frozen river, was squeaking and groaning, and +the storm was beating savagely against the +windows and doors of the mill, one of the villagers +sitting about the walled-in stove, in the +ashes of which the potatoes were being baked, +asked:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> + +<p>“George, whom are you going to marry?”</p> + +<p>Dimitru gave his son no time to answer. “He +will marry the one who will bring him a good +enough dowry,” he answered, instead of his +son.</p> + +<p>One by one they passed in review all the +marriageable daughters of the village. They +knew all of them. And when Dimitru had +shaken his head to the last one, the <i lang="ro">staroste</i>—the +elder of the village—trembling and with +shaking fists, thundered into the face of the +man:</p> + +<p>“Is it, then, the death of one of the married +men that you are waiting for, to marry your +son?”</p> + +<p>George had been making fun of all that was +said. He had taken it all as a joke. But to +the thundering voice of the <i lang="ro">staroste</i> he replied:</p> + +<p>“I wish everyone long life in this village, and +in every other one. When I am ready to +marry, I shall make my own choice.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, my son wants to get married to +some pauper. I have given six pair of oxen as +dowry to my daughter, six pair of oxen and +one hundred gold pieces. But he may want +to marry some pauper!”</p> + +<p>“A time will come,” George answered. “My +time will come. But it shall be of my own +choice, not of anybody else’s.”</p> + +<p>“Well said,” spoke the gray-bearded <i lang="ro">staroste</i>.</p> + +<p>Old Dimitru remained silent.</p> + +<p>Then they all sat down to sample the new +prune juice that was dripping from the copper +worm. It was better that such discussion end +in joy, so they sang their saddest songs.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p> + +<p>Finally George remarked, on looking toward +the idle stones, “It is a pity they should be +idle so long.”</p> + +<p>George was never happy but when the stones +turned around.</p> + +<p>“This is a water mill,” his father answered. +“When the Bistritza freezes, the mill freezes.”</p> + +<p>“I know, Father.” He was a miller and lived +only when the mill lived. “But it is a pity that +the stones should not be turning when the +Bistritza freezes.”</p> + +<p>“If it were a windmill, you would be saying +half the time the same thing,” another man of +the group mused.</p> + +<p>“If it were a horse mill, the mill would not +be turning at night,” another man said in jest.</p> + +<p>Whereupon one of the men, who had served +in the army, and had been far away in a large +city, began to speak about a large, steam-power +mill which he had seen on his travels. +A steam mill. One prepared logs to fire the +engine during the summer, and then in winter +one had the mill go whether the river was +frozen or not.</p> + +<p>George mused impatiently, “What a pity the +Bistritza freezes!”</p> + +<p>During the first month of the winter, after +the river had frozen, he had had some work to +do. He had sharpened every tooth and +smoothed out the grain of the stones, until the +teeth were as sharp as steel edges. He had +cleaned and adjusted and readjusted everything. +He had made it all ready to go, and +now he was anxious to hear the whirl and turn +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>of the mill, grinding and crunching all that +was shoved into it.</p> + +<p>“What a pity the Bistritza freezes!”</p> + +<p>His father looked at him and then replied: +“It is a thing I am going to put into my will, +that this is a water mill and it shall remain +so. This mill has ground fifty pair of stones.”</p> + +<p>George was tired of always hearing the same +thing. He left the company to go to his own +room above the shaft.</p> + +<p>Soon after, the peasants tightened their wolf-fur +coats about them and returned to their +homes, after wishing one another good luck. +It was snowing and storming. Wolves were +prowling on the road.</p> + +<p>Dimitru still pottered about in the cart shop, +working on a new corn-husking machine he +was trying to perfect; then, tired, he, too, went +to his room, where he lay wondering what was +to become of the mill after he was no longer +there. Was it to be desecrated? Was it to be +forever forgotten as the water mill on the Bistritza? +Was all the pride of generations to be +sacrificed to that new thing of which the returned +soldier had spoken? Outside the wind +was howling, the lugubrious plaint of the hungry +wolves was coming near and nearer, the +wheel was creaking on its axle, straining the +ropes that held it to the thick iron staples embedded +in the stone of the walls. Whom was +that son of his to marry if he wanted to marry +of his own choice? It had not been so with +him. His father had chosen him a bride, decided +on the dowry, and married him off. Yet +he had been happy! George should do as he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>had done. He was the father, the master.... +With these thoughts the old man fell asleep.</p> + +<p>Early that spring, after the river had broken, +and the logs began to descend to the mill, and +the wheel had begun again to turn, George, +very busy and very happy, forgot all about the +frozen months.</p> + +<p>At the inn Dan, Petru’s son, whose farm was +across the river and who was reputed to be +very wealthy, came to meet Dimitru, the miller, +to talk over matters of matrimony between his +daughter Veta and George. After the bottle of +wine was between them, Dan opened the conversation.</p> + +<p>“There is no other man would offer the dowry +I offer. What say you?”</p> + +<p>“I say that my son George must receive as +much as I have given my daughter as dowry. +Six pair of great oxen, one hundred gold +pieces, and all the other things.”</p> + +<p>Dan, red-haired and easily excited, rose from +his chair. “Is my Veta a cripple?”</p> + +<p>Dimitru answered calmly: “She is not ... +but George is a better man than the one who +married my daughter.”</p> + +<p>They both sat down again. It was not fitting +they should be heard quarreling by the +others.</p> + +<p>“Am I a miller to be able to give such dowry?” +Dan remonstrated. Then, as an afterthought, +he added, “One should be able to accumulate +wealth by building a mill the other +side of the river so people won’t have to lose +time rowing back and forth.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p> + +<p>“The mill is on this side,” Dimitru answered. +“It is on this side.”</p> + +<p>“Since millers ask such dowry, it may come +to pass that there will be a mill on the other +side also.”</p> + +<p>Upon that the two men left the inn.</p> + +<p>On reaching the mill Dimitru asked his son, +“What say you about Veta, Dan’s daughter?”</p> + +<p>George was busy cleaning the flour funnels. +He was as if snow-clad. He wiped his face +with his sleeve and answered: “It is long +since I have seen her. They have their own +inn on the other side. I remember her well, +however, beautiful and strong.”</p> + +<p>“You will marry her,” Dimitru announced +briefly.</p> + +<p>“Who says I will?” yelled George. He was +furious.</p> + +<p>“I say so. I have talked to her father about +dowry and things.”</p> + +<p>“Marry her, then, yourself. I shall do my +own choosing when I am ready.”</p> + +<p>“You will do what I say, George.”</p> + +<p>“In the mill, because the mill is yours.”</p> + +<p>“And do you know what will happen if you +don’t marry Veta? Dan will put up a mill on +the other side and starve our stones. Do you +understand?”</p> + +<p>George paled. But the next instant he stopped +the whirr of the mill to be better heard +and said to his father:</p> + +<p>“Even though she be the fairest on earth, I +say ‘no.’ I am not a horse or an ox to be marketed +that way. Let him build ten mills.”</p> + +<p>Upon that he returned to his work, while the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>old man muttered, “You will do as I say,” and +went to his shop.</p> + +<p>A few days later, bricks were being brought +in big carts and deposited on the other side of +the river. Bricks and beams and lumber, and +gypsies came to dig the foundation of a large +building.</p> + +<p>Dimitru’s heart stopped beating when he saw +that Dan really intended to build a mill. He +sent word he wanted to speak to him, but +Veta’s father refused to come. The old miller +could not sleep nights, nor could he work at +his lathe. The noise of the work across the +river maddened him. Another mill was rising. +Another mill, and his son seemed not to care. +He asked George to go to the dance across +the river and get better acquainted with Veta.... +The mill had to be stopped. George refused. +He would not be traded away. He +would take a wife of his own choice, mill or +no mill. Veta was out of the question.</p> + +<p>When the foundation had risen above a +man’s height from the ground, Dimitru, compelling +his son to come along, rowed across the +Bistritza to have a talk with Dan. He found +the man busily engaged in giving orders, +flushed by the activity about him.</p> + +<p>“What is it you are doing, Dan, Petru’s +son?” Dimitru asked, as if he did not know.</p> + +<p>“As you see, my neighbor across the water—putting +up a mill for the people on this side +of the river, so that they shall not have to row +across to your mill.”</p> + +<p>“But a good half of my milling comes from +your side of the river,” Dimitru answered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> + +<p>“That is just why I am putting up the mill,” +Dan replied sarcastically.</p> + +<p>“But that is impossible! My mill has been +there for over a hundred years,” remonstrated +Dimitru. “Are you going to starve the stones?”</p> + +<p>“To each one his own way of doing,” replied +the would-be miller. “But young men demand +such dowries, nowadays, they can only be made +by milling and not by farming.”</p> + +<p>“But we have been millers for hundreds of +years,” Dimitru insisted.</p> + +<p>“I hope my grandchildren will be able to say +the same thing about this mill,” Dan retorted. +“Perhaps things will change, and people will +begin to row from your side of the river to +this mill, for I shall mill cheaper than you do.”</p> + +<p>“So that is what you want to do,” cried Dimitru. +“Starve me out!”</p> + +<p>“You see,” Dan retorted, “I have only daughters +in my house. And the young men about +this place want big dowries, which only millers +can give to their daughters.”</p> + +<p>While the two men were speaking, Veta, +Dan’s daughter, came riding upon a small +horse. George raised his fur cap as he saw +her, and approached to help her from the saddle. +Instantly the two older men looked at each +other with a look of understanding. Perhaps +the problem was nearer a solution than they +had just thought. The conversation between +them lost its acridity as they saw the two +youngsters together, Dimitru saying:</p> + +<p>“It is not a mill that I should like for my +son as dowry. He already has one.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> + +<p>To which Dan answered, “I have not offered +the mill as dowry, have I?”</p> + +<p>They tried conversation on other subjects, +but it always reverted to what one had to offer +as dowry, and what the other one would be +willing to accept for his son. In the midst of +that, Dimitru, having remarked a too great +interest in his son for the girl, abruptly decided +to leave for the other shore.</p> + +<p>“Go on and work your mill, son. This is no +time to idle. Come.”</p> + +<p>“Come dance at our inn,” George urged Veta, +as he jumped into the boat.</p> + +<p>“There is a big dance at our inn tomorrow, +Sunday,” the girl answered.</p> + +<p>Then the oars splashed in the water, and the +boat was rowed across with vigorous strokes +by father and son.</p> + +<p>Late that night, as the two men were anchoring +the water wheel over Sunday, the father +said to his son:</p> + +<p>“I shall ask as dowry that he stop working +on his mill.”</p> + +<p>Instantly George rose to his full height and +looked his father straight in the eye.</p> + +<p>“You might have asked me,” George remonstrated, +“for I happen not to wish to marry +Veta.”</p> + +<p>“You do not?” Dimitru asked furiously. +“But I do want you to marry her, and marry +her you will. I shall not live to see the stones +of my mill idle when they should be milling—live +to see how the corn is rowed across the +river to be milled in the other mill, led by ungodly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>German wheels turning of themselves. +For it is a steam mill he is putting up.”</p> + +<p>“This is certain,” George answered, “you +cannot make me marry her.”</p> + +<p>Then he left his father and went to his room. +He was furious. Because his father had spoken +so compellingly, Veta, of whom he had thought +rather agreeably, had lost her favor in his eyes. +He was going to marry whom he pleased, and +not because of fifty pair of dead stones that lay +around there, requesting him to do otherwise.</p> + +<p>The following day, Sunday, he went to the +inn on his side of the river, in his best clothes, +looking around for any likely girl whom he had +not previously remarked, so that he could make +love to her, knowing full well that his father +was watching his every movement. In the +midst of the dance Veta arrived. She was fairer +than most of them, and she had put on her +best garb. Upon her bare, full neck she wore +the gold necklace, her white silk shawl hung +down from the comb in her hair, and her high, +well-modeled boots, that reached to her knees, +were decorated with veins of red and green +leather.</p> + +<p>The old man smiled to himself when he saw +her, sure that George could not resist her: she +was so beautiful. He was also certain that she +had come to dance with his son, sent probably +by Dan, her father, who already regretted what +he had done. Ah! He was not going to let +Dan off so easily if he saw Veta loving his +son.</p> + +<p>But the girl seemed to pay no attention to +George after a perfunctory greeting. At the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>dance she locked her arm into the arm of the +son of the blacksmith and danced with him +in the second, and third, and fourth dances, +avoiding dancing with George. It enraged the +old man. Seating himself near his son, who +was resting between dances, he said:</p> + +<p>“That shrew is trying to play with you.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody can play with me,” George answered.</p> + +<p>“She thinks that if she can make you love +her, her father will get off with less dowry +than he should pay.”</p> + +<p>“Who says I want her?” George answered.</p> + +<p>At the end of the fourth dance Veta beckoned +to George to come outside; she wanted to +talk to him. He followed her out quickly.</p> + +<p>Once outside, the girl told him rapidly:</p> + +<p>“My father wants to compel me to marry +you. I don’t want to.”</p> + +<p>“And mine wants to compel me to marry you, +and I don’t want to,” George answered.</p> + +<p>“Then it is understood,” Veta replied, after +looking the boy straight in the face. “Are we +cattle to be married against our will? We do +not want it. I always knew you to be a man, +George.”</p> + +<p>“No, we do not want it.” And they shook +hands on that.</p> + +<p>They reentered the inn as unobtrusively as +they had gone out. George watched her walk +ahead of him and thought:</p> + +<p>“What a spirited girl! And that fool of a +father thinks he can compel her to marry somebody +she does not want to!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="RIPE_WHEAT"> + RIPE WHEAT + </h2> +</div> + + +<p>The wheat blades, heavy with the large +berry nests, swayed golden in the light of the +setting sun. The bells of the little church +tolled the call to prayers. God had been good +to the peasants of the Dobrudja land. There +had been rain in time, and the locusts had kept +away from the marshlands of Tcherna. The +peasants, accompanied by their wives and children, +all in their Sunday clothes—the embroidered +waists with the red-and-green skirts +and the high boots with the vamps of colored +leather—crowded the road leading to the house +of God.</p> + +<p>They had been going to that church every +evening while their wheatfields ripened. They +were praying that no calamity overtake them; +for they had already suffered enough the previous +three years. Two years of drought had +robbed them of all their labor, and on the +third clouds of buzzing locusts had suddenly +settled upon their fields and devoured all, +leaving only dry stalks, before moving on, flying +lower, because heavier, to other fields to +do the same work of destruction.</p> + +<p>But now all seemed past danger. They offered +thanks to the Lord and promised gifts +of candles and oil for the lamps under the +icons of the church. On the morrow, they were +to begin harvest. Returning from the church, +talking softly among themselves, still awed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>by the sacred ritual, they looked over the +scythes to see if they were sharp enough and +the curved handles strong enough.</p> + +<p>It was only after the evening was over that +gaiety entered the square, thatched mud huts +of the Roumanian peasants. A lone gypsy fiddler +had appeared at the inn. It was One-Eyed +Naie, who traveled from one village to another +without ever remaining anywhere more +than a night. Some people said it was because +of an oath he had taken. Others said that he +was continually running away from a curse +which followed him for a sinful deed in his +youth. But it did not matter. Naie was a +good fiddler. Already the villagers were assembling +at the inn.</p> + +<p>Tomorrow they were going out to harvest +their fields. Many brought their curved long-handled +scythes to the inn to show them to one +another, and to whet them still sharper with +the oilstones they carried in their belts while +talking to friends. They had had their first +meal in more than two weeks; for they had +kept “post”—had abstained from eating meat +while they were praying God’s mercy.</p> + +<p>Now Naie was playing. The young men and +the girls were ready for the dance. Two of +the older men, Stan and the blacksmith Gavril, +sat down near Naie to beat the rhythm with +their palms while he was playing the dance +tunes. There were song and dance and loud +laughter before the night was very old. Arms +were locked in arms—the sinewy brown, hairy +ones of the young men on the velvet-white, +delicately veined ones of the girls.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> + +<p>Gay scarfs flashed in the air as they were +turning round and round the fiddler sitting +on top of an overturned barrel. Heels were +thumping the ground so hard the windows +shook and the rafters of the low ceiling trembled. +And they laughed and sang and yodeled.</p> + +<p>In the midst of all the gaiety appeared Boyar +Robu. The youngsters continued to dance at +his approach, but the older men became silent. +Even the two old men who had been beating +the rhythm with their palms ceased to do so. +He was a tall man, Boyar Robu, and thin and +wiry. A curly black beard framed his strong +brownish face. He was a man of about thirty. +He was dressed half peasant and half European.</p> + +<p>He greeted everybody in a friendly manner, +calling each one by name. But the answers to +his greeting were, though respectful, anything +but cordial or receptive on the part of the +peasants. The priest, Popa Stancu, was standing +talking to a peasant.</p> + +<p>“Good evening, Popa,” Boyar Robu called +out, and kissed the extended hand of the man +of God, as he walked up to him. The priest +followed almost reluctantly the Boyar to the +table.</p> + +<p>“And do please serve everybody,” the Boyar +called to the innkeeper. “This has been a +good year.”</p> + +<p>The peasants were not much pleased by the +Boyar’s generosity, and when he noticed their +refusal a wild rage overpowered him. Standing +up he smashed his empty glass on the floor.</p> + +<p>Instantly Naie ceased playing. The Boyar +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>stood and narrowed his eyes until they looked +more like two slits from under which shot +dark fire, as he called out:</p> + +<p>“Am I a heathen that you refuse me? It is +on my land that your wheat has grown! On +mine! And it has been so for generations and +generations. And while peasants were flogged +daily, and beaten and robbed by other boyars +a few miles from here your fathers and grandfathers +and yourselves have lived freely on +my land, long before the laws of the country +had given you freedom!”</p> + +<p>“It is not that, Boyar,” Stan, the oldest of +the peasants, spoke up, after looking around +to the other men. “But we do know what you +want. None of the men would put their oxen +or drive your oxen to these ungodly machines +that you have brought from Nemtzia, or from +other countries, to do the work God made man +to do.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll talk about that afterward,” the Boyar +called.</p> + +<p>Instantly glasses clinked. Blessings and good +wishes were proffered. They were his friends; +his peasants. He was their master. Their +good master. But those machines ... that +was a different story ... those things were +the work of the devil.</p> + +<p>The dance having stopped, some of the +young people went out in couples to speak of +things more important to them than what was +being discussed at the inn. Naie hung his violin +on the button under his coat, ready to go +to sleep in the barn of the inn. The Boyar +stopped him and called to the innkeeper.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p> + +<p>“Give Naie food. I may want him to play +tonight for us.”</p> + +<p>The gypsy was served at the end of the +room, while the peasants, standing on their +feet, assured the Boyar of their devotion. +When they had convinced him of that, they all +sat down to talk. Gavril leaned over with his +two hands on the table, and sticking his bearded +face right under the eyes of the Boyar, said:</p> + +<p>“We all love you. And your grandfather and +father and you, yourself, have always been the +best of Boyars to us. The rent of your land is +cheaper than anywhere, and you have always +been kind to us. But we would not, any of us, +come near to any of the machines you have +brought. This land here has been plowed with +the plow pulled by oxen. We have sown the +wheat with our own hands. We have harvested +it with our scythes and threshed it on the +threshing floor with our horses. That is what +peasants are born for. To do all this work. +It has been so since Adam. And if the Nemtzia +Germans or the people from another part of +the world want to do otherwise, let them do it.”</p> + +<p>“Have I spoken right?” Gavril turned around, +looking at the other peasants.</p> + +<p>“He has spoken right,” they answered, nodding +their heads. “He has spoken our own +hearts.”</p> + +<p>The whole night long Boyar Robu tried to +convince his men that the binding machines +he had from America, and which were rusting +in the shed, were not the work of the devil, +but the work of man’s brains. He explained +to them how they worked, how the steel fingers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>of the binding apparatus were catching +the Manila thread, and bringing it around the +sheaf after it had been lifted from the cutting +platform on the rolling canvas.</p> + +<p>But it was all in vain. Stolid, obstinate, the +men refused to believe it was so simple. The +priest was silent, but the peasants knew he +sided with them. And even after the Boyar had +explained that their poverty was due to the +fact that wheat and corn were sown and harvested +in other countries in different ways, +they refused to understand. If it was God’s +will that they live in poverty it was God’s will.</p> + +<p>Without the help of the peasants on his +enormous wheatfields the Boyar’s desire to expand +by cultivating all the land he owned was +an empty dream. The peasants were tenants. +They paid the rent for their land by so many +days of work in the Boyar’s fields. He could +not ask more days than was the custom for +each acre. If one took more land he needed +more time for his own fields. If one cultivated +only a little land, he owed him fewer days.</p> + +<p>Their own fields being comparatively small, +it was easy for them to harvest their wheat in +a few days, and thresh it leisurely on their +threshing floors. But it was not so with his +fields. The locusts not having spared him, he, +too, had had many bad years.</p> + +<p>Attracted by the odor of ripe wheat, the locusts +might arrive before he had had a chance +to harvest his 400 acres of wheat. He had +sown so much, hoping to recoup his losses of +former years. He had bought the machines to +save himself from ruin. The only thing that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>could save him was speedy work. And yet he +could not ask the peasants to go in with their +scythes in his field before they had cut theirs. +With the machines the work could be done in +a few days.</p> + +<p>But they were unwilling, and even when in +the stress of pleading with them he, Robu, the +son of the oldest of the Boyars in the neighborhood, +cried before them, they wept together +with him, but would not do as he asked them +to.</p> + +<p>“Why,” he said, “I’ll lend you my machines. +They will cut your wheat, all of yours, in two +days without much trouble. I can thresh your +wheat and get half as much more out of the +sheaves than you would get on the threshing +floors. You would get more time and more +money. More wheat.”</p> + +<p>But the peasants shook their stubborn heads. +Machines were the work of the devil. All the +diseases and all the ills of the world were +caused by the machines with which men +wanted to do more work than God had ordained +should be done.</p> + +<p>Unable to convince them, although he had +used the arguments that had been made to him +at the time he had bought the machines at +the capital of the country, Boyar Robu called +Naie to him.</p> + +<p>“Go to your homes. Leave me alone here +with Naie.”</p> + +<p>In the dim light of the oil lamp hanging +from the low-beamed ceiling, the air heavy +with the odors of boots and quarters of meat +and blankets and chains and plowshares, the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>Boyar and the gypsy remained the whole night +long.</p> + +<p>The peasants were already going out into +the fields singing the harvest song, holding the +glittering blue steel of the scythes to the sun, +with the girls beating the bottoms of empty +pots and throwing water, from the pails they +were carrying, at one another, when the Boyar +and the gipsy went up the road toward his +<i lang="ro">curte</i> at the end of the village.</p> + +<p>Boyar Robu still repeated:</p> + +<p>“Fools! Fools! You don’t want to work with +my machines!”</p> + +<p>Later, Boyar Robu rode out on his horse to +see how the harvesting in the peasants’ fields +was going on. The work was being done very +rapidly. Everybody from every hut had turned +out. Backs bent roundly as the swishing +scythes rose and fell and left broad paths of +gold on the ground. The smell of the wheat +and the song of sharp steel against dried +blades mingled with the chant of the men and +the cuckoo calls from the forest.</p> + +<p>Everywhere there was song. And everywhere +Boyar Robu was greeted, “We shall get +into your field tomorrow morning, Boyar. We’ll +cut it ere the locusts will come, never fear!”</p> + +<p>For they all loved him, though they regretted +that he wanted to do what nobody had ever +done before. It was all because of John Petrianu, +the cruel Petrianu, whose fields were +a few miles away. He had bought machines +and compelled his men to work them at the +point of a pistol.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span></p> + +<p>The Boyar nodded his head, accepting their +generosity and their mirthfulness. Yet, as he +looked at the fields, <span id="TN1">he thought how</span> easily the +whole thing could be done with his two machines.</p> + +<p>Having made the rounds, he returned to the +shed to look at the rusting monsters on which +the name of the harvesting company was lettered +with gold upon red boards. It amused +him to read the words in English and their +translation below into Roumanian, “Harvesting +Machine Company,” and, underneath, “Chicago, +Illinois.”</p> + +<p>He mused about the country they came from +as he looked at them. He had seen such machines +work in the fields of Petrianu, his +neighbor. How pretty it was to see them run +through and cut and bind and drop the sheaves +of equal thickness, file by file, one after the +other. How had Petrianu succeeded to get his +men to work them? He was a <span id="TN2">hard man, +Petrianu was...</span>. He had ordered and it was +done. Boyar Robu had heard tales of brutalities +he did not believe ... yet.... It was +all so simple! Why should these fools think +there was any ungodly thing that made this +iron and steel work?</p> + +<p>Early the following morning, as soon as the +heat of the sun had dried up the dew of the +night on the fields, the peasants came singing +down the road. Ranging themselves up on +the outside of Boyar Robu’s wheatfield, they +crossed themselves; then, bending their backs, +their hundred or more glistening hard-steel +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>scythes came down obliquely in one large +movement into the wheatfield.</p> + +<p>“Heigh! Ho! Heigh! Ho!” they sang loudly, +marking the rhythm of the first strokes as +they advanced breast deep into the gold. The +women, their skirts held upon the side by the +narrow red sash, followed in their bare feet, +to glean and bind into sheaves what fell behind +their men.</p> + +<p>Boyar Robu arrived on horseback. The devotion +of his peasants moved him deeply. His +ancestral worship of field work stirred within +him. There were several scythes lying idle +at the edge of the field, prepared in case one +should break or some mishap should happen +to a handle. He threw off his black coat, the +only garb that distinguished him from the +peasants, and, taking one of the scythes after +passing the oilstone over its edge, he went to +work amongst his men.</p> + +<p>They kept on working until late after sundown. +Then they measured what they had +done. It would take from eight to ten days to +complete the harvest.</p> + +<p>On arriving home, Boyar Robu, who was living +alone with his sister and several house +servants, found a slim young man sitting on +his porch peacefully smoking a short pipe. The +man was dressed in European garb, and because +his face was cleanly shaven, a thing +never seen in that part of the country, Boyar +Robu was uncertain as to the age or the business +of the man.</p> + +<p>Ileana, Boyar Robu’s sister, twenty, full-bosomed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>and long-limbed, with big brown eyes +and long black straight hair, rushed out to +meet her brother.</p> + +<p>“He came hours ago,” she told him, “this +man there. And he asked about you in a language +I do not understand, but which I think +is English. He sits there and waits and waits.”</p> + +<p>He smiled and remembered the “Ta Ra Ra, +Boom De Ay” song, with “Oh, yes, Oh, yes.” +These were the only English words, except +“Mister,” he had ever heard. He approached, +the man stood up, very much at his ease, and +offered his hand saying, “James Allison.”</p> + +<p>The two shook hands. Boyar Robu asked, +“Oh, yes? Oh, yes?”</p> + +<p>“You speak English?” James Allison wondered, +hearing the two words.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. Oh, yes,” Boyar Robu answered, +and laughed broadly.</p> + +<p>The clean-shaven man smiled at him and +patted him patronizingly on the shoulder, and +then launched into a long, loud speech, which +the other did not understand, to explain that +he was the demonstrator of the machines +Boyar Robu had bought the year before.</p> + +<p>The Boyar listened politely to the end and +then raised his hands over his head and bowed +as a sign that he had not understood a word. +But he did manage to ask Mr. James Allison +whether he was hungry and thirsty. James +Allison understood. He was famished, having +arrived hours before, after a long journey from +the Constanza branch of the company, to find +out why they had never heard from the Boyar +after he had bought the machines.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span></p> + +<p>The Boyar, his sister, and the stranger sat +down at the table to eat. They ate in silence, +the Boyar being too polite to talk to his sister +in a language the other man did not understand. +Finally Boyar Robu asked James Allison, +“Français?”</p> + +<p>The other man shook his head. “American.”</p> + +<p>That single word shed considerable light on +the situation. “Harvesting Machine Company, +Chicago?” Robu Boyar questioned, mispronouncing +every word.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” James Allison answered gaily. “Harvesting +Machine Company.”</p> + +<p>Then they looked at one another and the +three burst out in loud laughter. They sat on +the veranda, laughing, smiling, with the tacit +mutual understanding that the morrow was to +bring some explanation between them.</p> + +<p>Peasants passed back and forth, seemingly +to say good evening or to report something to +the Boyar, but in reality to have a look at this +strange man of whose appearance they had +heard at the inn.</p> + +<p>When the village had quieted, the Boyar +looked at his guest and looked at Ileana.</p> + +<p>With sign language, he then turned to his +guest and asked him whether he was ready to +sleep. Allison picked up his big brown bag +he had left outside the door and nodded his +head. He was ready. He was shown to his +room. Ileana remained on the veranda, thinking +of the distant land from where that man +came; a land where men sheared off the glory +of their faces. And yet that face had clean +lines of chin and nose, and the lips were firm.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> + +<p>How did he compare with John Petrianu? +She was waiting for him. She expected him. +He had been coming to see her almost daily +and would tell her of the lands he had been in +and the countries he had visited all over the +continent. He had seen much. He knew much, +Petrianu did.</p> + +<p>John Petrianu was of a different kind from +Boyar Robu. The Petrianus were not of peasant +stock as the Robus were. Therefore, they +did not have the same attitude toward the +peasants. For generations the peasants had +been serfs. Ordinarily they had been treated +little better than cattle and, regarded as such, +they were expected to do the bidding of a +Boyar. It was one of the things Ileana held +against Petrianu. He never spoke with love +of his people.</p> + +<p>Presently Ileana heard the gallop of his +horse. It stopped in front of the house, and +he came down to sit near her.</p> + +<p>“John,” Ileana said, as soon as the greetings +were over, “there is a man upstairs with a +clean-shaven face who comes from America, +from the land where they make the machines +that are rusting in our shed. He does not +understand our language. We do not understand +his. We do not know what to make of +the reason for his coming. Do talk to him in +the morning, if you have time to come here.”</p> + +<p>John was anxious to have occasion to prove +his superiority. He knew a little English, having +lived in England a short while.</p> + +<p>“I shall come over in the morning,” John +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>assured Ileana, “and I shall help that brother +of yours come to his senses. There is no other +way of dealing with peasants than forcing +them to do what you want. Afterward they +understand. Look at your farm! With three +times as much ground as I cultivate, you do +not produce half the amount. Just because +Robu wants to be good to the peasants.”</p> + +<p>They talked long into the night. John was +explaining how one should deal with peasants +in order to gain ascendancy over them. And +as he talked and Ileana defended her people he +slowly gained over her. His strength, his purpose, +his decision were compelling. While he, +realizing how he grew in her eyes, became +stronger and more decided. It was not that +he loved her so much. He needed someone of +the other sex on whom to exercise his superiority. +She became dearer to him when he felt +he was convincing her.</p> + +<p>When Boyar Robu arose the following morning +he found James Allison in a pair of overalls +and a cap which he wore with the visor on +his neck. He had already found out the shed +in which the two harvesting machines were +housed and was pottering around them.</p> + +<p>The two men greeted one another, each in +his language. They smiled in understanding. +Meanwhile, the peasants passed them by, going +out to the distant fields. The scythes were +hanging from their shoulders. And as he saw +them, Boyar Robu raged that he shouldn’t be +able to use the machines.</p> + +<p>At that moment John Petrianu, dressed in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>his best riding garb, with waxed mustache, +freshly shaven face, and oiled hair, came trotting +down on his proudest horse. Ileana had +heard him and was herself presently down +among the three men. James Allison was so +happy to find someone who understood him, +he shook John Petrianu’s hand with both of +his.</p> + +<p>“Finally someone I can talk to,” he repeated +over and over again. “Now tell me what is +the trouble here. Why don’t they use these +machines?”</p> + +<p>“It is because his peasants refuse to handle +them,” Petrianu answered. “I have some on +my farm from your company, and they work +well. I have had my troubles with them, but +it is all over now.”</p> + +<p>“Why,” Allison said, “all we have to do is +to prove to them that they are easy to handle +and more economical.”</p> + +<p>He was a demonstrator, James Allison, and +he had come down to demonstrate. Should he +succeed in changing the opinion of the peasants, +hundreds and hundreds of machines could +be sold in that territory.</p> + +<p>Petrianu, Ileana and James Allison looked at +one another. Suddenly Petrianu spoke to Robu.</p> + +<p>“You have been too soft with your men. It +is why they would not listen to you. Go back +to your room. Let them not see you at all. +Let me deal with them.”</p> + +<p>He stretched to his full height and looked +for approval on Ileana’s side. He knew by the +gesture of Robu that he had won him over. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>She looked admiringly at John. Yet, after a +few moments, she paused to say:</p> + +<p>“On condition, John Petrianu, that you +should not be brutal to them. We have been +hearing of the way you deal with your people +occasionally.”</p> + +<p>“It takes a strong hand; it takes a strong +hand to handle them,” he answered, still +flushed and drunk by his anticipation of being +able to show his power over men.</p> + +<p>Allison had been measuring up Ileana. In +spite of the proffered assistance from Petrianu +there was something about the man he did not +like; a harshness of tone that went against +the American’s grain.</p> + +<p>Allison had seldom before seen the kind of +beauty Ileana possessed. Strong, robust, kind, +with brown eyes and a milky white face, the +head set perfectly on wide shoulders.</p> + +<p>“We go to the field,” Petrianu said.</p> + +<p>Then he called to one of the servitors of the +house, who had come with Ileana, to saddle two +horses: one for the American and one for +Ileana. Had Robu asked his man for a similar +service he would have added some polite words. +Petrianu’s words were shot out like crisp whip +lashes. When the horses had been brought out +saddled, and they were mounted, Petrianu +again turned to the servitors.</p> + +<p>“And let four oxen be yoked to each of the +two machines in the shed,” he ordered.</p> + +<p>The two servitors crossed themselves and +bowed deeply, but they made no movement to +execute the orders. They looked appealingly +in the direction where Robu had disappeared.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> + +<p>“Do not look there!” Petrianu thundered. “I +am the master here now! Do what I tell you!”</p> + +<p>Ileana began to tremble. She looked with +appealing eyes to James Allison, who did not +understand what she meant, except that he +knew that she was afraid something dreadful +might take place. Petrianu was standing before +the men with his nervous hand upon the +short handle of the braided whip, forcing them +to put the yokes on the necks of the oxen.</p> + +<p>James Allison was mad with rage. But he +had been sent there as a demonstrator. That +man was helping him. If it needed a show of +force to convince the peasants, well, let it be +used.</p> + +<p>Trembling and crossing themselves over and +over again, the two servitors yoked the oxen. +Still walking after them with his horse broadwise, +Petrianu pushed oxen and men to the +machines.</p> + +<p>“Drive on!” Petrianu ordered.</p> + +<p>The spiked wheels of the machines began to +clatter down the road, one after the other, with +Petrianu, Jim Allison, and Ileana riding back +of them. Occasionally Petrianu would drive +alongside of the men and talk to them harshly, +twisting the lash of his whip as he talked.</p> + +<p>Rumbling and clattering, the machines arrived +at the wheatfield. The two drivers had +no sooner seen their people than they plunged +amongst them, crossing themselves and weeping. +Instantly the song of the scythe against +the ripe wheat ceased. The gleaning women, +the colored beetles in the gold stubble, unbent +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>their backs. There was silence. Why was Petrianu, +the cruel Petrianu, of whom they had all +heard, and this American, come with these machines +now to the fields they were harvesting? +And where was Boyar Robu?</p> + +<p>Petrianu advanced toward the two men, who +had abandoned the machines. Without a word +his whip came down upon the shoulder of the +first man, an elderly white-bearded peasant.</p> + +<p>The peasant screamed in horror and withdrew +a few paces. Petrianu’s whip had already +come down upon the other man, and he +raised it for the third time. Ileana cried out +in anguish.</p> + +<p>Jim Allison forgot that he was there to demonstrate +the working of his machines. Suddenly, +although the other man was much the +heavier and taller, he sprang upon him like a +cat. With one well-directed blow he sent him +sprawling on the ground. Petrianu rolled over +and, reaching into his riding boot, he jumped +up with an open drawn dagger in his hand.</p> + +<p>Jim Allison forgot everything. The sight of +the weapon in the other man’s hand drove him +almost insane with fury. He felt the warm +drip of blood from a gash in his face; and, as +they were fighting, he felt blood dripping down +from the upper part of his arm.</p> + +<p>Ileana screamed. The unarmed man, the +boy from the other seas, faced the big and +powerful Petrianu, who had a knife in his +hand. The peasants stood aside watching the +contest, all siding with the stranger, for they +understood he had jumped to the rescue of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>one of their men. And they wondered how +so light a man should dare fight so powerful +a man who had a knife in his hand.</p> + +<p>The two men were rolling over each other. +Allison’s hands were not free to hit, for he +was holding the wrist of the other man’s dagger +hand. And as the fight went on an unspeakable +hatred for Petrianu rose in the +hearts of the peasants. Allison had succeeded +in taking the weapon out of the other man’s +hand. Petrianu lay there, bruised and beaten, +fumbling in his hip pocket. Taking their +scythes in hand the peasants advanced toward +the man who was now slowly getting to his +feet.</p> + +<p>As readily as he had come to the rescue of +the peasants, Jim, throwing the knife at a distance +over his head, interposed his body in +protection of the man he had beaten. And then +Jim spoke to them in feverish language, calling +them brothers and asking them to be men +and understand. In his ardor he had forgotten +they were people of another language.</p> + +<p>But the men listened. The women seemed +to understand.</p> + +<p>“Get up, you coward!” Jim turned around +to Petrianu, who had risen to his feet. “Get +up, and on your horse!”</p> + +<p>And when the men seemed appeased, Jim, +with his bleeding arm and the blood dripping +from his cheek, put his arms around the necks +of the two men who had driven the oxen.</p> + +<p>“Come. Come,” he urged them.</p> + +<p>He looked around to see Ileana. She was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>gone. What mattered it? He was a demonstrator. +And the men were in a mood to do +what he asked. They turned around to the +other peasants, who made a passage for the +machines. Jim seated himself on the seat of +one while the man was driving the oxen.</p> + +<p>The machine started its grumbling movement. +The cutters sheared the wheat blades +low. The peasants ran after the machine to +watch how it operated. See, there a sheaf was +piled up, the cord was passed around it by the +two steel fingers. The needle passed across +and twisted the cord into a knot. Another +sheaf and another sheaf. Five. And then +they were all dropped softly to the ground.</p> + +<p>They had finished the first row when Boyar +Robu arrived, riding near his sister, who had +gone to call him, afraid lest some mishap was +to befall Jim Allison.</p> + +<p>“He has killed him! He has killed him!” +she cried.</p> + +<p>They found Jim peacefully starting the second +row. He had tied a handkerchief around +the wound on his arm to stop its bleeding; and +he was continually staunching the wound on +his cheek with the sleeve he had torn off his +shirt. It was his opportunity now. He had +won the confidence of the men. They were +willing. He had been sent as a demonstrator +and he was demonstrating. He was demonstrating +the harvesting machine.</p> + +<p>Robu rode after him, and Ileana put her +arms around him to get him off the seat of the +machine. He would not leave. The wound did +not matter.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<p>But they did not understand. Ileana was +deeply concerned about the wounds he had +received. She put her hands on his arm and +her fingers trembled as she touched him. His +whole body trembled in response. But he drove +on to finish the other row.</p> + +<p>On returning to where the idle machine +stood, with the oxen still yoked to the pole, +he motioned to Robu to sit down on the seat +and set it in movement. The two machines +rode side by side, with the peasants jumping +from one to the other, looking and giving soft +cries of wonderment at the regularity with +which the sheaves were bound and dropped +steadily, steadily. At the end of the row stood +Ileana with a pail of water. And this time she +put her arms firmly around the stranger and +almost lifted him off the seat. She washed his +wounds.</p> + +<p>Jim was happy. Not a muscle of his face +moved as she cleaned the gaping flesh of the +deep knife wound in the upper part of his arm. +Jim was happy. For one of the younger peasants, +who had watched the machine while it +had been pulled twice the length of the field, +had now jumped on the seat in his place and +was driving forward, onward, with the peasants +and their wives running after it as the +golden sheaves fell and fell to the ground. +They were all with their backs toward Jim +and Ileana.</p> + +<p>And then Jim in great joy jumped to his feet +and, without knowing exactly what he was doing, +he threw his arms about the girl’s neck +and drew her to him and kissed her long upon +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>the lips. She encircled his waist with her +arms and pressed him to herself.</p> + +<p>The following day Jim Allison wrote to the +manager of his company:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>We are cutting four hundred acres of wheat +with two machines Boyar Robu bought last +year. Please send immediately six pieces X-34 +and 8 L-56.</p> + +<p>I shall, however, remain a little longer here +than I expected at first, as I am marrying Boyar +Robu’s sister.</p> + +<p class="right p4">Yours,</p> +<p class="right p2">James Allison.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="SAVA"> + SAVA + </h2> +</div> + + +<p>There were twenty men in Sava’s band: +twenty resolute, black-bearded, lean, hard men, +each one capable of doing whatever was demanded +of him under any circumstances. Each +one could ride a horse until the animal fell +down exhausted; each one could negotiate +twenty miles of hills and mountains in torrential +rain or heavy snowstorm, and swim +across a river with a gun so fastened on the +back of the head that the powder in the barrels +remained dry. Twenty men who could +stand their ground against forty, against fifty, +against a hundred, and disappear in the batting +of an eye at a given signal, in as many +different directions, and know where and when +to meet again in the crevice of a rock in the +mountains, or in the abandoned dugout of a +<span id="TN3">she bear</span>!</p> + +<p>For years Sava and his men had been peacefully +smuggling silks from the Hungarian side +of the Carpathians over into Roumania, and +tobacco and linens from Roumania into Hungary. +They carried the contraband on their +backs or strapped the packs on the saddles of +the small Moldavian ponies they rode. Customs +guards and gendarmes on both sides had +watched them closely for years without ever +catching them.</p> + +<p>Big Sava, the leader, was only thirty. And +although his gait was as young as that of a +man of twenty, the steadiness of his eye and +the slowness of his speech gave his lean, dark, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>smooth face a much older stamp. He could +outdo his men at anything, although they were +the pick of the gypsy manhood of Roumania.</p> + +<p>Sava was the only unmarried man of his +band. He danced with all the maidens on +Sunday at the inn when he was at home. He +laughed and danced and joked and sang with +all of them. Many a time when the older men +had gone to sleep and the younger ones were +yet too full of the joy of life to go home or +to leave the circle of dancers, Sava would remain +with two of the most beautiful girls of +his tribe, one at his right and the other at +his left, and amuse himself watching the two +women trying to outdo each other in the game +of husband catching.</p> + +<p>When the game had lasted long enough, he +would tap his open palms and tell them to +run to their homes ere misfortune overtook +them. For it would be misfortune to marry +a man who did not love them. The women +gone, Sava would sit alone somewhere under a +tree and wonder when he would feel what love +really was like. He would pass in review all +the girls of his tribe. They were all beautiful, +but there was not one he preferred to another +one—not one he longed to see when he was +away, not one whose nearness made him want +to stay....</p> + +<p>His own men watched and hoped every +spring. They loved him and desired to see +him happy with a woman of their tribe.</p> + +<p>That winter Sava and his men had been detained +on the Hungarian side of the Carpathians +by a terrific snowstorm that lasted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>two weeks. During those two weeks they +stayed at “Marga’s,” the inn of a young widow +who kept the only place of its kind in fifty +miles around.</p> + +<p>When the storm had abated, the gendarmes +learned that Sava and his men were at Marga’s. +They drew a cordon around them, firmly decided +to catch the gypsies red-handed in the act +of smuggling. Sava resolved to outpatience +the gendarmes. He did not explain anything +to his men. He just remained there and slept +and drank and danced and sang as he had +never done before.</p> + +<p>Somehow Marga, and even Sava’s own men, +interpreted his actions according to their own +lights. Marga was convinced he remained +there because of her. As she was very much in +love with the young gypsy she began to cover +him with little attentions and whisper in his +willing ears all the little gossip she could find +out about the gendarmes. At first there were +twenty. Then she reported a hundred. In a +few days she reported the forest was full of +them, two behind every tree. Sava listened +quietly and smiled at her.</p> + +<p>Besides Sava and his men, there were twenty +other men staying at the inn. There were +heavy-bearded shepherds with sheepskin coats +reaching to their soles, itinerant peddlers with +feet wrapped in red rags, and two gypsy fiddlers +who had stumbled into the inn early one +morning, stiff and frozen, as if they had ridden +on top of the storm to Marga’s door.</p> + +<p>After the storm abated, the guests began to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>depart one by one. Ultimately only Sava and +his men remained with the two gypsy musicians, +the gendarmes still watching.</p> + +<p>Daily Sava’s men awaited orders from their +chief. But Sava seemed to have forgotten their +existence and forgotten everything about the +gendarmes watching him. With the two musicians +at his side, with the buxom blue-eyed +widow looking into his eyes as she filled his +cup of wine, he was oblivious of everything. +Never before had he felt so warm inside and +out. He had no love for Marga, and he knew +that. But he knew that she felt for him what +he had once felt for another woman, whom he +had been compelled to forget. He gloated in +that bitter-sweet of being loved without loving, +as if he were avenging his soul for what had +happened once, many years before. He could +order Marga around as he wished without fear +of losing her. He was master of her soul +because he was master of his own.</p> + +<p>His men came in and watched the spectacle. +The glowing, full-bosomed, round-armed young +widow was holding a foaming pitcher to his +empty glass, while leaning her cheek against +his.</p> + +<p>The younger gypsies proposed that they overcome +the gendarmes and bind them and tie +up the widow or take her along with them, if +Sava must have her near him. They were long +overdue at home. Their wives and their children +were weeping for them. Who knew but +that Mara and Pania and Fanutza had already +married former lovers or other men!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> + +<p>It was the beginning of March. Soon the +melting of the snows would not only make the +underground passages impossible but even the +paths in the woods. The wolves and the bears +were traveling in enormous packs. And the +gendarmes now entered the inn daily.</p> + +<p>One day Sava ordered the gypsy fiddlers to +play in the center of the room instead of playing +right near him. The gendarmes, half intoxicated, +mingled freely with his men, talking +and laughing. The carbines of the men of the +law were stacked in a corner.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Sava snapped his fingers. In a +leap, each of his men possessed himself of one +of the weapons and at the same time directed +it against one of the gendarmes. Sava’s hands +were the only ones free of any weapons. While +his men held the gendarmes at the points of +the guns, Sava paid his bill to Marga, whispering +a few love words to her. And then, turning +around to the gendarmes, he said:</p> + +<p>“If you stay here quietly for an hour, one +hour by my watch, you will find all your guns +stacked up at the foot of the mountain near +the big white boulder. And no one will know +anything about it. If you come after us, we’ll +have to use the carbines, and you’ll lose them—and +lose other things besides. Remember, +there are wives and children waiting for you +at home, but there are also wives and children +waiting for my men.”</p> + +<p>They placed the carbines near the white +boulder as promised, then they disappeared +from the surface into a secret tunnel a hundred +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>feet away from the place where the gendarmes +had camped without knowing that it +led through the mountains to the other side.</p> + +<p>There were loud huzzahs and hurrahs when +Sava and his men returned early one morning +to their village. They had been overdue two +months. Pania was already allowing Yorga to +come much nearer to her tent. Fanutza and +Mara were being considered young widows.</p> + +<p>And now Sava and his men were back, the +men looking up at him with even greater love +and devotion than they had ever done before. +It had to be celebrated—with the best wine, +the loudest shouting, the wildest dancing.</p> + +<p>They were not ready to tell the story of how +Sava had taken them away from among the +gendarmes. They interrupted themselves in +the middle of a tale with: “Oh, that can never +be told!”</p> + +<p>It was a trick of theirs they had for effect, +to tell one-half of the tale. <span id="TN4">They let it be +understood</span> Sava was a supernatural being who +could do things no one else could do, things +they could not even tell about.</p> + +<p>They feasted and celebrated for a whole +month. There were many dances. And many +were the women who turned about Sava, trying +to captivate him. Whenever Sava would be +near one of the girls who had forced her attentions +upon him, he would be waiting for +that pleasant glow which he experienced when +in the nearness of Marga, the widow innkeeper. +She was not as beautiful as many of the girls +of his own tribe, but he did not feel in their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>presence what he felt in hers. She loved him +for what he was, not what he did. He felt +they were giving him counterfeit instead of the +clink of real gold.</p> + +<p>When the wind and the sun had dried the +roads a Turkish merchant, coming from the +other side of the Danube, brought them a load +which he wished carried across into Hungary. +Sava and half of his men, loaded with heavy +packs, disappeared early one morning in different +directions. And though the place where +they had to deliver the merchandise was miles +away from the inn of the widow, Sava found +himself quite involuntarily stepping in the +direction of Marga’s inn.</p> + +<p>He told himself repeatedly he did not love +her, that he went there only because he knew +she was waiting for him—for him only....</p> + +<p>His men thought it was useless audacity to +go to Marga, with gendarmes watching about +her place. At one point of the road a riding +gendarme whizzed by. The gypsies looked at +one another and looked at their chief. He answered +with a broad smile and a nod of his +head. He knew that gendarme was riding at +top speed to warn the others of their coming. +But the merchandise had already been delivered.</p> + +<p>They were all in the inn when he opened +the door. He greeted them with loud laughter. +His running away had been a game. He and +his men had won. Sava offered them wine.</p> + +<p>“Let us drink like friends. What has been +has been. Wine, Marga.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span></p> + +<p>The gendarmes refused. Yet they were unwilling +to pick a fight with the gypsy, fearing +that a far greater number than those who had +come into the inn were outside ready to pounce +upon them if they should attack Sava. They +left the inn cursing and swearing.</p> + +<p>When they had gone, Sava leaned over the +counter and spoke to Marga:</p> + +<p>“I have come to bid you good-morning. I had +no time to bid you good-bye last time. Let’s +drink a glass together if you have forgiven +me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sava!” the widow answered, happy to +touch his hand. “Let me drink from your +glass. Sava! Sava!”</p> + +<p>He looked deeply into her eyes as he held +the glass to her lips, and asked:</p> + +<p>“And if I had told you to come along with +me, would you have come?”</p> + +<p>She raised her eyes to his and he read the +answer: “To the end of the world!”</p> + +<p>He remained leaning over the counter, looking +at her. The warmth emanating from her +was so pleasant! Why did he not love her? +What was it that prevented him from loving +her as she loved him? She was young. She +was beautiful! He did not love her. Yet he +liked to be near her. Why?</p> + +<p>Suddenly Marga awoke from her reverie. +She bent Sava’s head to her lips and whispered +in his ear:</p> + +<p>“They have found out the underground passage. +They have hidden a number of gendarmes +within the tunnel.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></p> + +<p>Sava looked at her gratefully, and called his +men to him for a short conversation. One by +one they went out. Sava was the last one to +leave. He kissed the widow’s lips before going.</p> + +<p>The gypsy smugglers disappeared in different +directions. But they met a few minutes +later near the narrow opening of the underground +tunnel in which the gendarmes were +hidden. One by one, they crawled in, under +the eyes of Sava, who remained the last. Then +he, too, crawled in and disappeared in the black +hole.</p> + +<p>Sava had hardly crawled in when gendarmes +who had been hiding behind trees followed the +gypsies, crawling cautiously after them.</p> + +<p>The gypsies did not remain underground +very long. They climbed out from a side entrance +to the tunnel a hundred paces from +the first. Then they blocked it up. And while +half of Sava’s men were running at top speed +over the forest to close up the other end of the +subterranean passage, Sava and the others +were hastily rolling huge boulders and stones +to close up the entrance into which the gendarmes +had just disappeared.</p> + +<p>Leisurely, carrying the bags of contraband +which had lain hidden in the forest, the gypsies, +headed by loud-singing Sava, marched +single file over the broad road across the border. +The gendarmes were all safely bottled +up.</p> + +<p>When they reached their village, Sava’s men +were prouder of their leader than they had +ever been, and told how he had tricked the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>gendarmes and extricated them from their +clutches. There were dances on the fresh +green grass, while the fiddlers, sitting on +empty barrels, were playing until their strings +snapped and were singing at the top of their +voices.</p> + +<p>When the gaiety was at its height a tribe of +horse-dealing gypsies joined the merriment. +They were from the Dobrudja, from the other +side of the Danube, where they had earned +much gold in trading horses.</p> + +<p>The welcome to the guest tribe knew no +bounds. The men threw their arms about one +another and patted one another’s shoulders. +The women climbed down from the tent +wagons, helped by the women of Sava’s tribe, +while the young men watched them, and made +comments as each one went down.</p> + +<p>“Hey, you black-tressed, long-faced beauty! +Where did you get your earrings?”</p> + +<p>“Hey, you! Did you steal your eyes from +the night?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, there another one climbs down backward +from the wagon, as if she were an old +woman. Are your feet of glass or are your +kneecaps of porcelain?”</p> + +<p>The young women of Sava’s tribe received +their blood sisters with much noise, fingered +their dresses, looked at their jewels and inspected +their bracelets and anklets, their bejeweled +fingers and necklaces. They tugged at +one another’s handkerchiefs and waved the +fringes of the shawls. The children of one +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>tribe began to get acquainted with the children +of the other, vying with each other as to who +could turn more somersaults at a stretch. The +dogs barked and nosed at the newcomers’ dogs, +then went out side by side to inspect the camp, +for the odor of broiled meats was rising in +the air, mingling with the odor of fried oil +and garlic in which the tenderer morsels were +already being stewed.</p> + +<p>Sava was standing near his men, occasionally +smiling at a clever sally, but never saying +anything himself. When Tira, Chief Mincu’s +daughter, jumped down from the rear end of +her father’s wagon there was a cry of wonder +from the throats of many men. She was no +longer very young, as gypsies go, perhaps +twenty-five. Her face was round and full and +quiet. Her body, without being supple, was +sinuous. Her movements were slow and stately. +Her big eyes looked the men over quietly +and appraisingly without any haste. Many a +man lowered his head as she looked at him. +Her glance rested a little longer on Sava than +it did upon the other men. But it was only +a fraction of a second that their eyes met.</p> + +<p>The other young men looked at Sava to see +the effect of the woman upon him, and realizing +he had singled her out of all the women, +they went about to take part in the general +gaiety that was being staged. A little later, +while the smoke was rising from the fire, and +the savour of steam from the pots, the two +tribes mingled freely, the young men from +Chief Mincu’s tribe were already on terms of +friendship with the girls from Sava’s tribe, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>while Sava’s young men were joking and +laughing with the women of Mincu’s tribe.</p> + +<p>Sava approached the chief and, greeting, sat +down near him, saying, “I am Sava.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you are Sava?” Mincu answered, shaking +his hand vigorously again. “They have +just told me how you bottled the gendarmes +up.”</p> + +<p>And the shrewd old gypsy trader shook with +laughter as he thumped Sava’s shoulder vigorously. +Defeating the men of the law was +great fun for all gypsies.</p> + +<p>“And your daughter, what is her name?” +Sava asked.</p> + +<p>“Tira,” Mincu answered. “And though there +have been five hundred and fifty men who +have offered me wealth and riches that I +should marry her to them, she has so far chosen +to remain alone.”</p> + +<p>He waxed enthusiastic. “In the Dobrudja a +Tatar chief wanted to buy her from me, offering +all his sheep, a thousand in number, for +her. A Cherkess in Russia offered me, not +very long ago, two of his best blood horses, +for which I had offered him a thousand pieces +of gold, that I should give her to him in marriage. +She refused.”</p> + +<p>“A thousand pieces of gold!” Sava repeated +incredulously.</p> + +<p>“A thousand pieces of gold,” Mincu asserted +without flinching.</p> + +<p>“And are you her father or her slave?” +Sava questioned, looking the older man in the +eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span></p> + +<p>“Her father,” Mincu answered. “But a +woman like Tira should have her word in the +choice of a husband.”</p> + +<p>Sava looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, +and rose to his feet. The dance had already +begun. He walked slowly up to Tira and extended +his right arm for her left one, to join +with her in the circle that was already turning +around to slow music, gathering speed for the +whirl in which it should end.</p> + +<p>With all her plumpness, she was as light as a +feather. And her feet executed quick movements +in the air before they were brought +down again to the earth, as they turned around +and around while the men were yelling “Hi! +Hey!” from the fullness of their throats. At +the completion of the circle one of the women +was called upon to step out into the center of +the circle to do a solo dance while the others +turned around and around and clapped their +hands:</p> + +<p>“Mara! Mara! Mara! Mara!”</p> + +<p>And Mara stepped out and danced. When +Mara had returned to join arms with her partner +another one was called. The young men +and women of the other tribe were given first +call, so that they might show the mettle of +which they were made.</p> + +<p>After the fourth round, the youth of Sava’s +tribe began to call on Tira to step out and +dance:</p> + +<p>“Tira! Tira! Tira! Tira!”</p> + +<p>Like a tiger Tira leaped into the center of +the circle. Spinning like a top with her arms +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>extended in front of her, she came to a dead +stop, only to begin the same spin in the opposite +direction. Her feet hardly touched the +ground, while her head turned this side and +that, looking at all of them provokingly, tantalizingly. +When the music slowed up, she clasped +her hands at her back, bringing her shoulders +forward, and glided snakewise along the inner +rim of the circle, measuring and weighing +with her eyes the men of the other tribe.</p> + +<p>When she reached Sava, she looked at him +longer than at the others, and spinning around +once more, she leaped as vigorously back to +her place as she had broken out of it. There +was no fatigue in her eyes. They were more +luminous than before. Only the bosom rose +and fell a little faster and the veins of her +throat thickened.</p> + +<p>There was a loud cry of admiration. Even +the older men and women, forming an outer +ring about the young people, were clapping +their hands and calling loudly her name: +“Tira! Tira! Tira!”</p> + +<p>When the dance was over Sava tugged at +Tira’s father’s coat.</p> + +<p>“That we drink a glass of wine together, +<i lang="ro">cumetru</i>, father-in-law. Come where the wine +is served.”</p> + +<p>Mincu looked into Sava’s eyes as he rose to +follow him.</p> + +<p>“It is about Tira that I want to speak,” Sava +said, after clinking glasses.</p> + +<p>“What can you tell me of her that I do not +already know?” the girl’s father laughed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> + +<p>“You spoke of a thousand gold pieces, Mincu. +But you meant silver pieces, did you not?”</p> + +<p>“I spoke of a thousand gold pieces, which I +have refused,” Mincu answered, putting down +the empty glass.</p> + +<p>“Maybe another glass of wine will teach you +the difference between gold and silver,” Sava +replied, winking at his men as he poured more +wine for Mincu.</p> + +<p>“The difference, my son, is the difference +between you and me,” Mincu rejoined, while +the people called out with admiration:</p> + +<p>“Hey, Mincu! That’s Mincu!”</p> + +<p>The two tribes assembled about the two +bargaining men. They forgot even what the +bargaining was about. It was just a contest +of wits. The two men were looking at each +other silently, each one watching for the other +to make an opening.</p> + +<p>“Where is blind Jorga, that he tell me a +story?” Mincu called mockingly, having lost +patience.</p> + +<p>“Leave blind Jorga out of that,” Sava answered +in anger.</p> + +<p>Mincu caught the eye of his daughter.</p> + +<p>“If you talk about silver you will drain the +wine of the country before I say another word.”</p> + +<p>“Gold! Gold!” called Mincu’s men.</p> + +<p>“Then gold it shall be,” Sava answered, and +taking from his belt a heavy purse he tendered +it to Mincu. “There are a hundred pieces of +gold here. What say you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> + +<p>In answer to Sava’s offer Mincu turned his +back and spoke to his men.</p> + +<p>“Harness up. Another few hours we shall +reach Ploesti and be received by our own people.”</p> + +<p>Sava looked at Tira, who returned his glance +without flinching.</p> + +<p>“And so a thousand gold pieces were offered +and you refused?”</p> + +<p>“It was the man I refused and not the gold,” +Tira answered angrily. “You should have come +to me first.”</p> + +<p>She turned her back and left him.</p> + +<p>Sava sat down on his heels and watched how +Mincu and his men were harnessing their +horses. Sava’s men were happy to see him so +interested in a woman. They were anxious +to see him settled with a family. It was no +good having a chief without a wife and not +knowing where his eyes might cast about for +one.</p> + +<p>Sava called the oldest men of his tribe and +spoke to them softly. The old men approached +Mincu with great ceremony.</p> + +<p>“Pass this night with us, pray. It is too late +to reach Ploesti before nightfall. There have +been heavy rains in the mountains, and the +ground is still soggy. There is meat aplenty +here, and wine, and the strings of the fiddles +have not all snapped.”</p> + +<p>Mincu resisted, claiming that he could reach +Ploesti with the kind of horses he had, no +matter what the roads were. But ultimately +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>the old men and the people of Sava’s tribe +prevailed upon the guests to stay overnight.</p> + +<p>Mincu unbuttoned his coat in preparation +for the new glass of wine. Tira was sitting at +the end of her wagon, her legs dangling.</p> + +<p>“To show that I am grateful that you have +remained here with us, Mincu, I will offer you +two hundred gold pieces,” Sava said.</p> + +<p>Mincu shook his head and answered in reproachful +accents, “I have remained as a +guest and not as a trader.”</p> + +<p>“Three hundred,” Sava called out, to the +amazement of his men.</p> + +<p>And then, as Mincu still shook his head, +Sava called out in quick succession: “Four +hundred. Five hundred.”</p> + +<p>Mincu <span id="TN5">turned around and looked</span> at his daughter, +who shook her head negatively.</p> + +<p>“That is not half enough. I would willingly +take it if it were my daughter’s will. It would +be worth the difference between that and a +thousand for me for the happiness of my +daughter. But she is unwilling, Sava.”</p> + +<p>Sava moved away from the chief and sat +down near Tira. Never before had he been +so electrified as he was by the nearness of +that woman beside him.</p> + +<p>“And so you urge your father to refuse five +hundred gold pieces that you become my wife,” +he asked, looking into her eyes.</p> + +<p>“I would tell him to refuse a thousand,” Tira +answered calmly. “You should have spoken to +me first,” she added.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p> + +<p>Sava left her and went to talk with his men. +The night was long. If her father was a +trader, he, too, was one. No one should be +able to say, “Mincu has bested Sava in a +bargain!” He knew that his people would ply +Mincu with wine to soften him into a better +bargain.</p> + +<p>Late that night Tira was still dangling her +feet from the rear end of the wagon. She was +talking to her father. Sava could not hear +what she said to him, but he heard Mincu +argue with her heatedly.</p> + +<p>It looked as though his men had brought +Mincu to reason. He regretted he had offered +five hundred gold pieces for the girl. Perhaps +if he had stopped at four hundred! Or even +three hundred! It was not only the money, +<span id="TN6">but to be beaten</span> in a bargain by another man!</p> + +<p>Mincu was half drunk now. He put his two +hands on Sava’s shoulders and said:</p> + +<p>“I talked to Tira. She says she won’t have +you, that I should not sell her to you. And +I so much want to have you for my son, Sava. +But she won’t have you. Oh, women! Who +can ever tell what is in their hearts. Who +can? Fill my glass, men; fill it.”</p> + +<p>“What kind of a father are you?” Sava questioned.</p> + +<p>“Yes, what kind of a father are you that you +cannot tell her what to do?” Sava’s people +shouted. “Tell us! Are you her slave or her +master?”</p> + +<p>“It is not only that,” Mincu rejoined. “But +if it is to get her a husband she does not want +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>I can turn around and get the thousand gold +pieces the Cherkess has offered, or the two +horses I wanted so much.”</p> + +<p>He had sobered up the moment he was again +bargaining. Drunk or sober, he was a trader.</p> + +<p>“I have offered you five hundred. I am +offering six hundred now,” Sava called out.</p> + +<p>Mincu’s eyes brightened, but he still shook +his head.</p> + +<p>“Seven hundred,” called out Sava, after a +brief moment. “It is all I have!”</p> + +<p>“Then wait a few more years,” Mincu answered +jestingly. “Don’t give away all you +have!”</p> + +<p>Sava sank into himself. It really was all he +possessed. He would willingly have offered +more. What did money count against the +possession of such a woman as Tira? Her pale, +round face shamed the moon. Her eyes gave +more warmth than the fire that was burning +and crackling.</p> + +<p>Blind Jorga edged up to Sava. “When I last +saw thee thou wert no higher than my knees. +But I know thee and have listened to thy voice +during all the years. Take this.” And he put +his purse into Sava’s hands. “It is all I have. +Offer that also for the woman thou lovest.”</p> + +<p>Sava’s friends saw Jorga put his purse into +their chief’s hands and were now ready to +give all they possessed that he buy himself +the woman he loved.</p> + +<p>“Silence!” blind Jorga called. “He has offered +seven hundred. He can now offer a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>hundred more gold pieces. And by my beard, +he will not offer more! Mincu! Where is +Mincu!”</p> + +<p>“If it is to marry her to a man she does +not want why should I take eight hundred +when a thousand has been offered to me?” +Mincu answered.</p> + +<p>Another gypsy put his purse into Sava’s +hands. “It is fifty gold pieces. All I have.”</p> + +<p>And those fifty were offered to Mincu.</p> + +<p>Then one after another the other men gave, +each one everything he possessed, until the full +sum of a thousand gold pieces was reached.</p> + +<p>“There is a thousand,” Jorga called out joyfully, +for he was conducting the deal.</p> + +<p>At the loud huzzas of the people, Tira joined +the circle.</p> + +<p>“It is a thousand gold pieces they have offered +for you, Tira, and I have accepted.”</p> + +<p>Sava looked at her. He was happy, not only +because he had bought her for a thousand gold +pieces, but also because his people had so self-sacrificingly +offered of their own free will the +money they had saved in long years of dangerous +toil. He was proud of their love for +him. He felt stronger than he had ever felt +before—as if all their strength had joined his. +He looked at them with tears in his eyes. He +looked at her. She was angry, defiant. She +could not understand that if she was worth a +thousand gold pieces to him she was worth all +the gold in the world to his people, and they +to him more than that.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span></p> + +<p>Screaming at the top of her voice, Tira threw +herself at her father’s chest beating with her +two fists.</p> + +<p>“Oh! To have sold me to a man I do not +want! Oh! Oh! Oh! Against my will. Against +my will. He should have spoken to me first. +To me. To me.”</p> + +<p>She tore her hair and clawed her breasts +and face. That a daughter should dare so to +behave toward her father! But Sava’s whip +will cow her into a dutiful wife!</p> + +<p>They looked at Sava, expecting to see the +joy of the prospective taming of such a woman. +But he stood with his eyes closed, and his face +became sadder and sadder as Tira’s rage grew.</p> + +<p>His mind climbed over the mountains to that +other woman, to the young widow whose love +for him was so intense, who made him feel so +sure of himself. She was always waiting for +him.</p> + +<p>What sort of woman would be waiting for +him on his return from a dangerous journey +if he were to marry Tira? True, he could beat +Tira into submission. But he could not force +love from her; not the kind of love the other +woman had for him. And he weighed and +measured. Was the nearness of the one who +loves you not dearer than the nearness of +the one who does not?</p> + +<p><span id="TN7">Meanwhile, Tira’s rage</span> grew and grew. She +clawed and cried and cursed. Oh, it would be +pleasant to tame her! The desire to tame her +was growing in him every second. He would +have liked to begin right then and there. But +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>she was still Mincu’s daughter. She was not +yet his wife.</p> + +<p>She did not love him. He could see that. +What kind of woman would await his return +from the other side of the mountains? He +would come to her with a heart full of love, +tired, hungry, wounded. How would she receive +him? Marga, the widow, would be waiting +for him—expecting him.</p> + +<p>The poet of the tribe, old Jorga, was chanting: +“A thousand gold pieces Sava pays for +the woman he desires! That is the kind of +men we have. They pay everything they possess +for the women they love. That is the +kind of men we are. When a man does not +have all the money, all the gold, we give it +to him, that he purchase his heart’s desire.”</p> + +<p>They had meanwhile dragged Tira to the +wedding rug. She had suddenly quieted down +and was awaiting Sava in the center of the +weave. She had dried her tears and was +straightening her hair while the men and +women shouted and laughed.</p> + +<p>“Sava, give Mincu your purse that he give +you the hand of his daughter,” Jorga asked, +fumbling for Sava’s hand.</p> + +<p>Sava remained silent. His eyes had a far-away +look.... Suddenly he looked with +searching eyes into the face of Tira.</p> + +<p>“Bring me my horse,” he called to one of his +men. “Let her marry the man she loves. I +am going to fetch here the woman who loves +me!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> + +<p>And, throwing the purse into Jorga’s hands, +he turned to Mincu and called: “It is a bad +bargain you have driven, Mincu. A woman +like her is worth ten times a thousand gold +pieces—to the man she loves. But she will +only be anguish and death to the man she does +not love! If you hate the Cherkess, sell her +to him.”</p> + +<p>And Sava sped his way across the mountains +to the woman who was ever waiting for him.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="transnote"> + <h2>Transcriber’s Notes</h2> + <br> +<ul> + <li>Hyphenation has been retained as in the original publication.</li> + <li><abbr title="page">p.</abbr>28: “though” —> “thought” (<a href="#TN1">he thought how</a>).</li> + <li><abbr title="page">p.</abbr>28: “Petrinau” —> “Petrianu” (<a href="#TN2">hard man, Petrianu was...</a>).</li> + <li><abbr title="page">p.</abbr>42: “she bear” has been retained as in the original publication (<a href="#TN3">she bear</a>).</li> + <li><abbr title="page">p.</abbr>47: “understod” —> “understood” (<a href="#TN4">They let it be understood</a>).</li> + <li><abbr title="page">p.</abbr>58: “loked” —> “looked” (<a href="#TN5">turned around and looked</a>).</li> + <li><abbr title="page">p.</abbr>59: “he” —> “be” (<a href="#TN6">but to be beaten</a>).</li> + <li><abbr title="page">p.</abbr>62: “Meanwhile.” —> “Meanwhile,” (<a href="#TN7">Meanwhile, Tira’s rage</a>).</li> +</ul> +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78341 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78341-h/images/cover.jpg b/78341-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5f56fa --- /dev/null +++ b/78341-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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