Zidra

ZidraBy M. BezaWe were talking in the inn at Grabova and passing round the wine without troubling ourselves as to the lateness of the hour. In time we began to sing—as it is the custom to sing in these parts. One raises his voice, while the others subdue theirs, till all take up the chorus:Your head lies in my pouch,Zidra, mighty Zidra!Only our friend, Mitu Dola, was silent; he was much moved and kept turning first to one side and then to the other.“Oh, that song!” he gasped when we stopped. Then suddenly to me: “Do you know who Zidra was? And do you know who killed Zidra?”He took up his mug, drank from it several times, and then, with a brain clouded by distant memories and the strong wine, he began to tell me the story:“It must be some thirty years ago. Zidra wasthen a haiduk in the Smolcu mountains. What a man! There was a heavy price upon his head. His very name, passed from mouth to mouth, brought a wave of fear. And we children would gather together in the evening under the eaves of the fountains, by the church doors, and talk of Zidra. This much we knew: at one time he had lived amongst us and then had unexpectedly disappeared from the village; on account of some murder everybody said. After a long time he appeared again, robbing a long way this side of Smolcu: ‘Zidra is at Seven-Hills; Zidra is in the Vigla Forest.’“Whispering thus secretly, we would glance over our shoulders. We would shiver as though we could feel a cold breath from the dark thicket whence Zidra might appear. I pictured him just like my father, probably because my father, too, was a striking figure. In a coat with long flowing sleeves, his cap on one side, and his belt loaded with pistols, my father—like all tax-gatherers at that period—was on the road a great deal of his time, so that my mother and I remained alone for weeks on end.“We had a house just on the outskirts of the village surrounded by a beech wood, the shadows of which hung darkly above our heads. How it would begin to moan at night! The rustling of the leaves, the prolonged roar of the rocking trees was like some great waterfall. From our soft bed, clasped in my mother’s arms, I listened to the fiercedin. From time to time it ceased; then, through the silence, came the sound of whistling, of shots, of the trampling of horses and of men.“I sighed with terror. ‘Mother, supposing robbers should attack us.’ ‘Hush! It is unlucky to speak of such things.’ ‘You know, mother, Zidra is in Vigla Forest.’ When I first mentioned this name my mother trembled and started back, but quickly coming forward she said hastily and with unusual anxiety: ‘Who told you this?’ ‘Cousin Gushu, mother. Gushu’s father, mother, saw a host of vultures over Vigla Forest circling round.’“My mother repeated in a puzzled way: ‘Vultures circling round——’ Then, after thinking a moment, she said to herself: ‘That is it; that is where he halted and had his food—the vultures are attracted by the smell.’“My father, arriving a few days later, said the same thing, while he added that some shepherds had also seen Zidra. My mother was delicate, her features bore the melancholy expression of some hidden sorrow. She looked wan and remained staring into space. ‘Eh? What?’ said my father sternly. ‘Why should I be afraid of Zidra?’“He closed the conversation. But into our house there crept an unexplained disquietude—something intangible, blowing like an icy breath that made my mother shudder. How could I understand then? Time alone has given me the explanation of it all. And to-day when I thinkof the spot where this dark mystery unfolded itself old scenes and things emerge from oblivion and stand vividly before me. I see the yard of our house with the door opening into the wood, the staircase leading into the bedroom; here is the hearth and along the walls are the great wooden cupboards. Sitting upon the corner-seat by the fire my mother spun at her wheel—often she would start to spin but seemed as though she could not. She would constantly stop, her thoughts were elsewhere. And if I asked her anything, she would nod her head without listening to me. Only when, amid the loud rustle of the trees, I would mention Zidra she would turn quickly, her eyes wide open, and say with a shiver: ‘Zidra?’ ‘Yes, mother.’“And when night fell she would try the doors one after the other. She would walk up and down, a pine-torch in her hand, passing through visions of horror, and with her went the smoking flame which rose and fell as it struggled with the shadows, moving upon the ceilings and floors and on the walls of the room where the sofa was, where it lit up for a second the hanging weapons: an old musket, two scimitars, some pistols.“Sometimes there was a pleasant silence over everything. The wood slept, the country, too, was asleep. Then, in the light of the little icon-lamp, could be heard the gentle hum of the spinning-wheel, murmuring like a golden beetle in a fairy-tale, lulling me till I slept.“During one of these nights—the wheel stopped and I heard my mother saying: ‘Tuesday at Custur, Wednesday at Lehova, Thursday—Thursday——’ She knew where my father usually stayed and was calculating.“Becoming confused she began again from the beginning: ‘Tuesday at Custur, Wednesday at Lehova, Thursday—Thursday on the road.’ And she rose. She went to the lamp to pour in oil that it might burn till the daylight. In the meantime a noise came from the yard and was repeated more loudly. ‘Mother, some one is knocking!’ ‘Who could be knocking?’ she murmured.“After a moment of indecision she went downstairs. Unintelligible words followed—a man’s voice, the door was shaken. My mother began to speak gently, inaudibly. Soon everything was silent again. By my side I could hear my mother’s breath, coming short and with difficulty, but her tongue remained tied. When she recovered herself she said suddenly: ‘Can I? How can I open? I am married. I cannot.’ ‘To whom, mother—to whom must you open?’ She took me tremblingly in her arms, squeezed me to her, and pressed her burning cheek against mine. ‘You are too little. You do not understand, my treasure!’“And, after a while, talking more to herself, while the tears flowed slowly down her cheeks: ‘At the fountain in Plaiu—it is long ago. We pledged our word—at dusk—God saw us; and inthe end he made off one day, and I waited for him—years and years I waited. Now what does he want? I am married. What does he expect? Why did he come?’“Thus much I remember. I fell asleep close to my mother. The next day she might just have got up after a long illness so white was she in the face, with fear shining in her eyes. When my father saw her he raised the thick bushy eyebrows which gave such a harsh appearance to his hairy face. ‘There is something wrong, something has happened.’“Could she deny it? They went into the room where the sofa stood, and soon after my father broke out with: ‘From henceforth either I or he!’ And he stormed about, taking long heavy strides while the weapons clattered on the wall. He swore, and added with a wild burst of laughter: ‘Ha, ha! And the head and two hundred ducats!’“From now on he no longer took the road; he remained on guard. Spies began to move about. Fierce-looking men knocked at the door. My father went out, exchanged some rapid words with them, among which could be continually heard the name of Zidra, and they disappeared. But what were those cries, those sharp whistles through the night? Often, too, across the hillocks came the sound of stones—stones striking one against the other, and my father replied in the same way. And the knocking sounds rose sonorous, ringing through the darkness as though some strange birdswere rattling their beaks. I heard it in my sleep and shuddered. ‘Have no fear,’ whispered my mother, ‘it is nothing, my dear one. Your father is talking—with some sentries.’“A few weeks passed thus, until one midnight there appeared in the further room four men in black cloaks, carrying guns; they seemed to have sprung out of the ground. They shook hands and without a moment’s pause began moving about in the ruddy, uncertain light of the pine-torch. In the silence outside—a silence caused by the fog which deadened all sound—their words could be overheard. As my father slung his scimitar over his shoulder, one of them said in a loud clear voice: ‘At Sticótur, in the monastery.’ ‘Since when?’ ‘Since dinner-time to-day—he is eating and drinking.’ ‘The man is caught,’ said another. ‘He can’t escape this time.’“They went out quickly; they were lost in the black darkness which began to vibrate with the rising of the wind. The bushes rattled and bent beneath the rain—storms of rain beat and splashed against the window-panes, a sea of sound, storm after storm.”Here, as far as I can remember, Mitu Dola brought the story to a close. I asked:“How did it end?”“Didn’t you hear the song? My father took the head and put it in his pouch. As he said, ‘and the head and two hundred ducats.’”GardanaBy M. BezaMitu Tega returned to the house much annoyed. As he entered his wife asked him:“Well, has he not turned up yet?”“No, not to-day either.”“This is what happens when you rely on an unknown man, a stranger. Suppose he never comes. God forbid that he should go off with the whole herd!”Tega did not reply. He sat motionless in the silent veranda, which gradually grew dark with shadows of the evening mist, and pondered. Of course such things did happen; he might have taken the goats and gone off, in which case let him find him who can! Where could one look for him? Whither could one follow him?And as he meditated thus he seemed to see the shepherd before his eyes; he called to mind the first day he had seen him; a terrible man, like a wild man from the woods, with a great moustachelost in a hard, black beard, which left only his eyes and cheek-bones visible. He came into him, and without looking him in the face, said:“I have heard—some people told me that you want a man to tend the bucks. Take me, I am a shepherd.”Tega gave him one look, he was just the kind of man he wanted. He asked him:“Where do you come from?”“I come—well, from Blatza. Toli—Toli the shepherd—I have been with many other goat owners.”Tega looked at him again, considered a little, and said:“Good, I’ll take you; may you prove honest, for, look, many a man has cheated me, and many a man has stolen from me up to now.”And so he engaged him. Toli stayed with Tega, and no one could have conducted himself better.A month later they went together to the Salonica district, where they bought goats, over eight hundred head. When it was time to return, Tega—for fear of attack by brigands—went ahead secretly, leaving Toli to follow on alone with the herd. The days slipped by—one week, two—Toli did not put in an appearance. What could have happened? Many ideas passed through Tega’s brain. Especially after what his wife had said. At night he could not sleep. He dozed for a while, and then wokeagain, with his mind on the shepherd, tormenting himself, until the crowing of the cocks heralded the dawn. Then he got up; and, as he was short and plump, he took a staff in his hand, and proceeded to the nearest hill whence could be seen the country opening out as flat as the palm of a hand.At that hour the first blush of dawn glowed in the east. And slowly, slowly rose the sun. Round, purple, fiery, it lit first the crests of the mountains, then flashed its rays into the heart of the valleys; the window-panes in the village suddenly caught the fiery light; the birds began to fly; on the ground, among the glistening dew, flowers raised their heads out of the fresh grass, a wealth of daisies and buttercups like little goblets of gold. But Mitu Tega had no time for such things. His eyes were searching the landscape. Something was moving yonder—a cloud of dust.“The herd, it is the herd!” murmured Tega.He could hear the light, soft tinkle of the bells, sounding melodiously in the spring morning. And see, see—the herd drew near, the bell-carrier in front, two dogs with them, and last of all the shepherd with his cloak round his shoulder.“Welcome,” cried Tega with all his heart. “But, Toli, you have tarried a long while. I was beginning to wonder——”“What would you, I did not come direct, I had to go round.”The bucks played around, a fine, picked lot withsilky hair, they roamed about, and Tega felt as though he, too, could skip about, could take the shepherd in his arms, and embrace him for sheer joy.As in other years, Tega kept the herd on the neighbouring slopes, on the Aitosh hills. It was Toli’s business to get the bread, salt, and all that was needed, and once every two or three days, leaving the herd in the care of a comrade, he would take his way to his employer’s house. Usually Tega’s wife would be spinning at her wheel when he went in.“Good day!”“Welcome, Toli,” the woman said pleasantly. “Tega is not at home at present, but sit down, Toli, sit down, and wait till he comes.”The shepherd took off his cloak, and did not say another word.The veranda where they were sitting was upstairs; through the open windows the eye could follow the distant view; the hills lay slumbering in the afternoon light, along their foot lay a road—processions of laden mules, whole caravans ascending slowly and laboriously, winding along in bluish lines till lost to sight over the brow of the hill. The woman followed them with her eyes, and without moving, from her wheel, pointing with her hand, she said:“There are sheepfolds yonder, too, aren’t there?”The shepherd nodded his head.“I never asked you, Toli, how are the goatsdoing? Do you think my man chose well this year?”“Well, very well.”That was all. He said no more. His deep-set eyes were sad, and black as the night. A minute later footsteps sounded in the garden, and then the voice of a neighbour:“Where are you, dear, where have you hidden yourself?”“Here, Lena, here,” replied the woman upstairs.Lena mounted the stairs. Behind her came Doda Sili and Mia; they had all brought their work, for they would not go away till late in the evening.“Have you heard?” asked Lena.“What?”“Two more murders.”Suspicion had fallen upon Gardana. He had become a kind of vampire about whom many tales were told. Especially old men, if they could engage you in conversation, would try and impress you with the story.In a village lived a maiden, modest and very beautiful. She was small, of the same age as Gardana, who was a boy then. They were fond of each other, they played together, they kissed each other—they kissed as children kiss. But after a while the girl’s form took on the soft curves of coming womanhood; then it came to pass that theynever kissed each other, they knew not why, and when they were alone they did not venture to look into each other’s eyes; she would blush like a ripe apple, and Gardana’s lips would tremble. Then there appeared upon the scene, from somewhere, a certain Dina, son of a rich somebody; the girl pleased him, and he sent her an offer of marriage. Her father did not think twice, her father gave her to him.And Gardana—would you believe it—after he realized that it was hard fact, gnashed his teeth, beat his breast, and disappeared. Two days later he was on the mountains, and a gang with him.Eh! love knows no bounds, love builds, but love also destroys many homes.The girl’s father was seized and murdered; not long after Dina was murdered too. Then Gardana spread terror for many years in succession.For some time now, whatever he might have been doing, wherever he might be in hiding, nothing had been heard of him. But as soon as something happened, his name once again passed round the village: “Gardana, it is Gardana!”Perhaps it was not he, perhaps he had left the mountains, perhaps even he was dead; but the people who knew something——“How many did you say there were?” asked Mia.“Two; both merchants. They came from abroad.”“And who can have murdered them?”“No one but—Gardana.”“How is it? But is Gardana still alive?”“Come, do you think he really is dead? No, no, they alone give this kind of tidings of themselves.”“And why?”“They have to be on their guard, the bailiffs are after them, they might capture them.”“Perhaps——”The spinning-wheel spun on. The spool wound the thread, the treadle hummed, filling the room with a soothing noise.Doda Sili said wonderingly:“Who knows what kind of man he is?”“Gardana?”“Gardana.”“Not a very big man, but large enough to terrify one, with a black beard—oh, so black!—and, when you least expect it, there he is on your road, just as though he had sprung out of the ground. Didn’t our Toli once meet him!”“How was that?”The spinning-wheel stopped suddenly. A swarm of gnats came in through the windows, and buzzed round in the warmth of the sun; and Lena said quietly:“It was on his way from the sheepfold; he came upon Gardana on the Padea-Murgu.”“Oh, it might have been somebody else.”“It was he, he himself, with that beard, those garments——”And so the conversation continued. Toli, the shepherd, took no part in the talk. He sat over on the floor, silent, impassive—like a moss-grown stone. Only occasionally he raised his bushy eyebrows, and a troubled, misty look shone in his eyes. Tega’s wife wondered to herself, she could not understand him; really, what was the matter with him? He was brave, she knew he had not his equal for courage, when he had charge of the herd not an animal was ever lost; all the same, what a man he was, always frowning, and never a smile on his lips! There must be something with him, naturally it must be—— And breaking off her train of thought she suddenly spoke to him.“Toli, during all the months you have been with us I have never asked you whether you are married?”The question was unexpected. The shepherd seemed to be considering. Then he answered:“No.”“What? You have never married? Have you no wife, no home?”“Home—ah!” he sighed. “You are right, even I once had a home, even I had hopes of a bride, but they came to nought—what would you, it was not written in the book of destiny—I was poor.”He spoke haltingly, and his eyes wandered hereand there. And after one motion of his hand, as though to say “I have much sorrow in my heart,” he added:“That girl is dead—and I, too, shall die, everything will die.”One afternoon in March, as the shepherd did not appear, Mitu Tega prepared to go alone to the fold. He brought out the horse, bought two bags of bread, and a lamb freshly killed, went to the mill where he procured some barley, and then on slowly, quietly—he on foot, the horse in front—till he reached his destination just as the sun was disappearing behind the Aitosh mountains.The shepherds rubbed their eyes when they saw him, but he called out:“I have brought a lamb for roasting.”“You must eat it with us,” said Toli, “and stay the night here.”“No, for they expect me at home.”“Will you start back at this hour?” put in Panu, Toli’s comrade. “The night brings many perils.”It was getting quite dark. Stars twinkled. Whether he wished to or not, Mitu Tega was obliged to remain. Then the shepherds set to work; one put the lamb on to the spit, and lit the fire; the other fetched boughs from the wood. He brought whole branches with which they prepared a shelter for the night for Tega—within was abed of green bracken. Then all three stretched themselves by the fire. Gradually the flames sank a little, on the heap of live coals the lamb began to brown, and spit with fat, and send out an appetizing smell. The moon shone through the bushes; they seemed to move beneath the hard, cold light which flooded the solitude. The shadows of the mountains stretched away indefinitely. Above, some night birds crossed unseen, flapping their wings. Mitu Tega turned his head. For a moment his glance was arrested: by Toli’s side, a gun and a long scimitar lay shining on the ground. He was not nervous, otherwise——He glanced at Toli.“What a man!” thought Tega. “I have nothing to fear while I am with him.”They began to eat, quickly and hungrily, tearing the meat with their fingers, not speaking a word. Toli picked up the shoulder-bone of the lamb, and drew near the fire, to scrutinize it, for some omen for the future.“What’s the matter?” Tega asked.“Nothing—only it seems to me—that there is blood everywhere, that blood pursues. Look, and you, too, Panu.”“There is,” murmured Panu, “a little blood, one can see a spot, two red patches.”The hours passed. The dogs started off towards the woods. From their bark there might be dangerous men on the move. Toli listened a moment, took his gun, and said quickly to Tega:“Have you any weapon about you?”“I have—a pistol.”“Take it out, and go in there, and do not move. But you, Panu, get more over there—not near the fire, move into the shadow.”He had scarcely finished speaking before the brigands were upon them. They came stealthily through the bushes, avoiding the moonlight, but the shepherd saw them, and without waiting fired a chance shot.“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” cried the robbers.A great noise arose—the flock scattered, the barking of the dogs became gradually more and more excited; there was another report, and yet another. Toli’s gun gave a dull sound and was followed by several cries:“You will kill us all like this, all——”“Down with your arms, lay down your arms!” cried Toli.“Look, man, we are putting them down; only don’t shoot.”“Drop them!”Toli’s voice thundered. His voice alone was enough to make one tremble.The brigands threw down their arms, and advanced. There were three of them. One was quite a young man, about thirty-five years of age, with a worn face, and very pale. Blood was flowing from one foot and clotting on to his white gaiters as it flowed. Toli went up to him and said:“I have wounded you—have I wounded you?”The brigand did not reply. Toli crossed his arms and shaking his head asked:“Was it me you meant to rob? Was it me you meant to attack? Do you know who I am?”They looked into each other’s eyes, they stared at each other—deep into each other’s eyes they gazed. Each one was thinking: “Where have I seen him before?” for they had surely known each other somewhere. Vague memories of their past life, of bygone years began to stir, and gradually, recollection dawned.“Gardana,” said the brigand, “is it you?”Mitu Tega was startled. He shivered as though iced water were being poured down his back. Who had uttered that name? Where was Gardana? He was thunder-struck by what followed: Toli and the robbers shook hands, embraced each other and conversed with each other.“Gardana, Gardana, I thought you were dead—they told me you had died, Gardana!”“No, brother,” said Toli. “It might have been better if I had died.”Then after, a short pause:“But you are in pain, brother; I have hurt you—look, you were within an ace of being killed, brother Manole, and I should have had another man’s soul, and another man’s blood upon my head. There, you were nearly killed. What brought you, what drew you within range of my gun? Withinan ace, brother Manole—another man’s soul, another man’s blood——”For the first time for many years he seemed moved with self-pity. He tore a strip from his shirt, bent over Manole, and dressed his wound. The others watched, amazed. The waters were sleeping, the forests were sleeping. From the trees, from the valleys, from the grass, came voices murmuring in the silence of the night, soft, remote, a sort of breath, more like a sigh from the sleeping earth. Manole spoke:“Do you remember, Gardana? We were on the Baitan mountains, you know—at Piatra-de-Furca—we were together when the bailiffs hemmed us in on all sides—a host of them. We held our own till nightfall. Eh! and then I saw what stuff Gardana was made of! You gave us one call and went straight ahead—we after you, and so we escaped, we cut our way through with our scimitars. Then, when the trumpets gave the alarm, and the guns began to go off, I lost sight of you, Gardana; we were all scattered, I remained alone in the valley under Piatra-de-Furca. Do you remember? It must be five years, more—six years ago. Where are all our comrades now?”“Our comrades—they have gone away, I let them go. Brother Manole, heavy curses lie on my head—enough to crush me, brother. I was not a bad man. You know how many times I went to Dina. I said: ‘Don’t drive me too far, bethinkyourself.’ And I went to the girl’s father. But you see Dina was rich, Dina had flocks of sheep. And her father gave her to him without asking whether the girl loved him. And after that, tell me, brother, could I sit patiently by, bite my nails and say nothing? Could I?”Toli Gardana ceased speaking. After a moment of reflection he added softly:“But the girl faded away—she died of grief and disappointment. One day the earth will cover me too, our bodies may rot anywhere, and no one will weep—not a tear, they will all rejoice. I don’t know, brother, but since that girl died it seems to me I am not the man I was. I wanted to kill myself, I roamed about here, and one day I went to Tega. I was strong—I gave out that I came from Blatza, and that I was a shepherd; who was he that he should know differently! But you, brother, how has the world treated you?”“Harshly, Gardana. I was shut up in Tricol for three years. Prison cut me off from life. For months I dug—with hands and nails I dug—until one night, during a storm, I broke through the wall and escaped with these two companions. And when I found myself back among these mountains my thoughts turned to you. I had heard you were dead, Gardana; but see what has happened, and how it has come to pass, how fate brings these things about, brother Gardana ... it is not a month since I escaped....”Before they were aware of it the shadows of the night began to melt away. The brigands ceased to speak as though they feared the signs of the coming day. They remained silent, their heads upon the ground in the face of the glory of the flaming dawn.Toli Gardana asked:“Where are you going now?”“How should we know? No matter where. There are many forests.”The Dead PoolBy M. BezaWe seemed to be between Mount Gramos and Mount Deniscu. I guessed it to be so from the peaks, which showed like some fancies of the night, keeping steadfast watch in the moonlight; the moon we could not see, we could only feel her floating over us. The pale light shone only in the ether above, and gradually diminished till it was lost to the eyes in a mass of shadows; they fell like curtains, enveloping us, dense, black. The silence extended indefinitely; it was as though the world here had remained unchanged since its creation. Hardly a breath of wind reached us. It always carried with it at this spot the same odour of dank weeds, of plants with poisonous juices; everything told of the neighbourhood of water—not fresh water, but water asleep for centuries.“Can you see the pool?” questioned my companion, Ghicu Sina; and then he added: “It is hidden, certainly, but look with attention.”I looked, and after a time, getting accustomed to the darkness, I, too, got the impression of something shining and smooth.“The pool——”“Only the pool? Some lights too?”“That is so,” I whispered with a shudder.There on the surface of the water were flickering points of fire. They could not come from above, they were not glow-worms, or sparks such as one sees passing over graves.Ghicu Sina spoke:“They are reflections, the lights are burning in the pool.”With the fear that seizes us in the presence of the supernatural, I asked:“What induced us to stay here?”“Where else could we stop? There are no sheep-folds in these parts, formerly there were such, but since the death of the Spirit who guarded the mountains, none of them remain.”After a pause he said slowly:“You have heard of dead pools?” He stood immersed in thought. “This is a dead pool. I will tell you about it.“Once upon a time, when the trees were bursting into leaf, this district was full of sheep. Flock after flock passed through, handled by sturdy shepherds, well known in their own neighbourhood. Then one spring-tide a stranger showed his face,beautiful as a god, wearing upon his shoulders a cloak as white as snow. Every one wondered, ‘Who may he be, and whence does he come?’ Many tales passed round until the mystery began to unravel itself. In the valley of the Tempe, so runs the story, whither he had wandered with the sheep, he fell in love with the beautiful Virghea. Mad with love, when the family made the winter-move, he followed her to the mountains; he came with a comrade and wandered about till he settled his sheep-fold here, in these parts.“Ah! where had the fame of this Virghea of Gramuste not reached! All the beauties of nature seemed to have bestowed some gift upon her: the blue of heaven—the colour of her eyes; the shadow of the woods—the mystery of their liquid depths; the setting sun—the gold of her soft hair; the springs—the tone of her silvery laugh. Attracted by such charms every youth fell at the feet of Virghea. But she did not care; only when her eyes rested on the shepherd did her youthful being fill with a burning desire.“Now day after day from the high ground about the sheep-fold could be heard the sound of a flute; heard in the stillness of the dusk it roused strange longings in the girl’s breast. Then she would steal out of the house, and the shepherd himself would come down towards Gramuste.“About this time, there broke loose such a storm as had never been seen before. The peaks beganto rattle as though the mountains were changing places, striking each other with noise like thunder. Thus it continued for three days. Only on the fourth day, late in the evening, could the shepherd leave the fold: he had taken only a few steps when—what a sight met his eyes by the side of the pool! A big fire, and round it a shadowy form. And suddenly the phantom spoke with hand pointing to the spit which he held above the heap of burning coals: ‘The heart of the Spirit of Deniscu.’“In a flash the shepherd realized the meaning of the hurricane of the last few days. The guardian Spirits of the mountains had striven together, and one had been overthrown. The shadow continued to speak: ‘Turn this spit that I may rest a while. Taste not of the heart, for if you touch it you will immediately die.’“The shadow fell into a profound slumber.“By the side of the fire the shepherd looked fearfully on all sides. Far off, in the pale blue sky, a star broke away; it fell with a long tail of fire, and went out. ‘Some one will die,’ sighed the shepherd. The words of the Spirit flashed through his mind. ‘H’m!’ he said. ‘If I taste, perhaps the contrary is true, who knows?’ So thinking, he put his finger on the heart on the spit and carried it to his mouth. The sensation was unspeakably pleasant. He laughed; then quickly ate the whole heart. Immediately there rose within him a cruelpassion towards the sleeping Spirit; upon the spot he killed it and took the heart. At once there came to him the strength of a giant, the ground began to tremble beneath his footsteps, while aerial voices, and voices from the water, sounded round him. Creatures never seen before emerged from the pool; linked together by their white hands they danced round in whirling circles. Thus changed, he reached his comrade at the fold, and tried to explain, but his thoughts were elsewhere, and his voice sounded as though from another world. He finished with broken words: ‘The water calls me—tell no one what has happened to me—take my flute: if danger threatens come to the pool and sing to me.’“During the evenings that followed Virghea saw naught of the shepherd, and she wondered at not seeing him, expecting him from day to day. So days passed that seemed like weeks, and weeks seemed months, and they went by without any news of him till the poor maiden took to her bed from grief. Then the comrade of the hills remembered the shepherd’s words. He came at midnight to the side of the pool and sang—a long time he sang. Towards dawn, when the strains of the flute died away, there came from Gramuste the sound of two strokes of a bell, then another two, and others in succession, mournful, prolonged. The echoes answered back, as though other bells were ringing in other places, resounding from hill to hill untilthey reached the bottom of the pool, and after a time, to the voice of the bells were joined real words, sobbing to the rhythm: ‘Virghea is dead—is dead!’”Ghicu Sina paused a while. Although he had only told me these things quite briefly, I felt their secret had entered my soul; with my eyes upon the pool where the strange reflections constantly played, I seemed to hear, as one sometimes hears the faint voice of memory from a remote past, the sound of the bells and their metallic words: “Virghea is dead—is dead!”And then, the story adds, he rose from the pool. Like the wind, he raised her in his arms and carried her deep down to his translucent palace where, to this day, little fiery points of light burn round the head of the dead woman.Old Nichifor, the ImpostorBy I. CreangaOld Nichifor is not a character out of a story-book but a real man like other men; he was once, when he was alive, an inhabitant of the Tzutzuen quarter of the town of Neamtzu, towards the village of Neamtzu Vinatori.When old Nichifor lived in Tzutzuen my grandfather’s grandfather was piper at the christening feast at the house of Mosh Dedui from Vinatori, the great Ciubar-Voda being godfather, to whom Mosh Dedui gave forty-nine brown lambs with only one eye each; and the priest, uncle of my mother’s uncle, was Ciubuc the Bell-ringer from the Neamtzu Monastery, who put up a big bell at this same monastery at his own expense, and had a fancy to ring it all by himself on big feast days, on which account he was called the bell-ringer. About this time old Nichifor lived at Tzutzuen.Old Nichifor was a cab-driver. Although his carriage was only fastened together with thongsof lime and bark, it was still a good carriage, roomy and comfortable. A hood of matting prevented the sun and rain from beating down into old Nichifor’s carriage. In the well of the carriage hung a grease box with a greasing stick and some screws which banged against each other ding! dong! ding! dong! whenever the carriage moved. On a hook below the boot—on the left—was suspended a little axe to be ready for any emergency.Two mares, white as snow and swift as flame, nearly always supported the pole of the carriage; nearly always but not quite always; old Nichifor was a horse-dealer, and when he got the chance he would either exchange or sell a mare in the middle of a journey, and in that case the pole would be bare on the one side. The old man liked to have young, well-bred mares; it was a weakness with him. Perhaps you will ask me why mares and always white ones, and I will tell you this: mares, because old Nichifor liked to breed from them, white, because the whiteness of the mares, he said, served him as a lantern on the road at nights.Old Nichifor was not among those who do not know that “It is not good to be coachman behind white horses or the slave of women;” he knew this, but the mares were his own, and when he took care of them they were taken care of and when he did not—well, there was no one to reproach him. Old Nichifor avoided carrier’s work; he refused to do any lifting for fear of giving himself a rupture.“Cab driving,” he said, “is much better; one has to deal with live goods who go up hill on foot, and down hill on foot, and only stay in the carriage when it halts.”Old Nichifor had a whip of hemp twig, plaited by his own hand, with a silk lash, which he cracked loud enough to deafen you. And whether he had a full load or was empty, old Nichifor always walked up the hills and usually pulled together with the mares. Down the hills he walked to avoid laming the mares.The passengers, willing or unwilling, had to do the same, for they had enough of old Nichifor’s tongue, who once rounded on one of them like this: “Can’t you get out and walk; the horse is not like a blockhead that talks.” If you only knew how to appreciate everything that fell from old Nichifor’s mouth, he was very witty. If he met a rider on the road, he would ask: “Left the Prince far behind, warrior?” and then, all at once, he would whip up the mares, saying:“White for the leader, white for the wheeler,The pole lies bare on the one side.Heigh! It’s not far to Galatz. Heigh!”But if he met women and young girls then he sang a knowing song, rather like this:“When I took my old wifeEight lovers did sigh:Three women already wed,And five girls, in one village.”They say, moreover, that one could not take the road, especially in the month of May, with a pleasanter or gayer man. Only sometimes, when you pretended not to see you were passing the door of a public house, because you did not feel inclined to soften old Nichifor’s throat, did you find him in a bad mood, but even on these occasions he would drive rapidly from one inn to the other. On one occasion, especially, old Nichifor coveted two mares which were marvels on the road, but at the inns, whether he wanted to or no, they used to halt, for he had bought them from a priest.My father said that some old men, who had heard it from old Nichifor’s own lips, had told him that at that time it was a good business being a cab-driver in Neamtzu town. You drove from Varatic to Agapia, from Agapia to Varatic, then to Razboeni; there were many customers, too, at the church hostels. Sometimes you had to take them to Peatra, sometimes to Folticeni, sometimes to the fair, sometimes to Neamtzu Monastery, sometimes all about the place to the different festivals.My father also said he had heard from my grandfather’s grandfather that the then prior of Neamtzu is reported to have said to some nuns who were wandering through the town during Holy Week:“Nuns!”“Your blessing, reverend Father!”“Why do you not stay in the convent and meditate during Passion Week?”“Because, reverend Father,” they are said to have replied with humility, “this wool worries us, but for that we should not come. Your Reverence knows we keep ourselves by selling serge, and though we do not collect a great deal, still those who go about get something to live on....”Then, they say, the prior gave a sigh, and he laid all the blame on old Nichifor, saying:“I would the driver who brought you here might die, for then he could not bring you so often to the town.”They say old Nichifor was greatly troubled in his mind when he heard this, and that he swore an oath that as long as he lived he would never again have dealings with the clergy, for, unfortunately, old Nichifor was pious and was much afraid of falling under the ban of the priests. He quickly went to the little monastery at Vovidenia to Chiviac, the anchorite of St. Agura, who dyed his hair and beard with black cherries, and on dry Friday he very devoutly baked an egg at a candle that he might be absolved from his sins. And after this he decided that from henceforth he would have more to do with the commercial side.“The merchant,” said old Nichifor, “lives by his business and for himself.”When he was asked why, old Nichifor answered jokingly:“Because he has not got God for his master.”Old Nichifor was a wag among wags, there was no doubt of it, but owing to all he had to put up with he became a bit disagreeable.I don’t know what was the matter with her, but for some time past, his old wife had begun to grumble; now this hurt her; now that hurt her; now she had the ear-ache; now some one had cast a spell over her; now she was in tears. She went from one old witch to the other to get spells and ointments. As for old Nichifor, this did not suit him and he was not at all at his ease; if he stayed two or three days at home there was such bickering and quarrelling and ill will that his poor old wife rejoiced to see him leave the house.It’s plain old Nichifor was made for the road, and that when he was off it he was a different man; let him be able to crack his whip and he was ready to chaff all the travellers he met and tell anecdotes about all the chief places he passed through.Early one day—it was the Wednesday before Whit-Sunday—old Nichifor had taken a wheel off the carriage, and was greasing it when suddenly Master Shtrul of Neamtzu town came up behind him; he was a grocer; a dealer in ointments; he took in washing; he traded in cosmetics, hair-dyes, toilet accessories, blue stone, rouge or some good pomade for the face, palm branches, smelling salts and other poisons.At that time there was no apothecary in Neamtzu town and Master Shtrul to please the monks and nuns brought them all they wanted. Of course he did other business too. To conclude, I hardly know how to tell you, he was more important than the confessor, for without him the monasteries could not have existed.“Good morning, Mosh Nichifor!”“Good luck to you, Master Shtrul. What business brings you to us?”“My daughter-in-law wants to go to Peatra. How much will you charge to take her there?”“Probably she will have a great many packages like you do, sir,” said old Nichifor, scratching his head. “That doesn’t matter; she can have them. My carriage is large; it can hold a good deal. But without bargaining, Master Shtrul, you give me sixteen shillings and a gold irmal and I’ll take her there quite easily; for you’ll see, now I’ve attended to it and put some of this excellent grease into it, the carriage will run like a spinning-wheel.”“You must be satisfied with nine shillings, Mosh Nichifor, and my son will give you a tip when you get to Peatra.”“All right, then; may God be with us, Master Shtrul. I am glad the fair is in full swing just now; perhaps I shall get a customer for the return journey. Now I would like to know when we have to start?”“Now, at once, Mosh Nichifor, if you are ready.”“I am ready, Master Shtrul; I have only to water the mares. Go and get your daughter-in-law ready.”Old Nichifor was energetic and quick at his work and he rapidly threw some fodder into the carriage, spread out a couple of leather cushions, put to the mares, flung his sheepskin cloak round his shoulders, took his whip in his hand and was up and away. Master Shtrul had scarcely reached home when old Nichifor drew up his carriage at the door. Malca—that was the name of Master Shtrul’s daughter-in-law—came out to take a look at the driver.This is Malca’s story: it appeared that Peatra was her native place; she was very red in the face, because she had been crying at parting with her parents-in-law. It was the first time she had been in Neamtzu; it was her wedding visit as they say with us. It was not much more than two weeks since she had married Itzic, Master Shtrul’s son, or, it would be better to say, in all good fellowship, that Itzic had married Malca. He had quitted his parents’ house according to the custom, and in two weeks’ time Itzic had brought Malca to Neamtzu and placed her in his parents’ hands and had returned quickly to Peatra to look after his business.“You have kept your promise, Mosh Nichifor?”“Certainly, Master Shtrul; my word is my word. I don’t trouble myself much. As for thejourney, it’s as well to set out early and to halt in good time in the evening.”“Will you be able to reach Peatra by the evening, Mosh Nichifor.”“Eh! Do you know what you’re talking about, Master Shtrul? I expect, so help me God, to get your daughter-in-law to Peatra this afternoon.”“You are very experienced, Mosh Nichifor; you know better than I do. All I beg of you is that you will be very careful to let no harm befall my daughter-in-law.”“I did not start driving the day before yesterday, Master Shtrul. I have already driven dames and nuns and noble ladies and other honest girls, and, praise be to God, none have ever complained of me. Only with the nun Evlampia, begging sister from Varatic, did I have a little dispute. Wherever she went it was her custom to tie a cow to the back of the carriage, for economy’s sake, that she might have milk on the journey; this caused me great annoyance. The cow, just like a cow, pulled the forage out of my carriage, once it broke the rack, going uphill it pulled back, and once it nearly strangled my mares. And I, unhappy man that I am, was bold enough to say, ‘Little nun, isn’t it being a penny wise and a pound foolish?’ Then she looked sadly at me, and in a gentle voice said to me, ‘Do not speak so, Mosh Nichifor, do not speak thus of the poor little cow, for she, poor thing, is notguilty of anything. The anchorite fathers of St. Agura have ordained that I should drink milk from a cow only, so that I may not get old quickly; so what is to be done? I must listen to them, for these holy men know a great deal better than do we poor sinners.’“When I heard this, I said to myself, that perhaps the begging Sister had some reason on her side, and I left her to her fate, for I saw that she was funny and at all events was determined to drink only from one well. But, Master Shtrul, I do not think you are going to annoy me with cows too. And, then, Mistress Malca, where it is very steep, uphill or down, will always get out and walk a little way. It is so beautiful out in the country then. But there, we mustn’t waste our time talking. Come, jump in, Mistress Malca, that I may take you home to your husband; I know how sad it is for these young wives when they have not got their husbands with them; they long for home as the horse longs for his nose-bag.”“I am ready to come, Mosh Nichifor.”And she began at once to pick up the feather mattress, the soft pillows, a bundle containing food, and other commodities. Then Malca took leave of her parents-in-law, and got on to the feather mattresses in the bottom of the carriage. Old Nichifor jumped on to the box, whipped up the mares, and left Master Shtrul and his wife behind in tears. Old Nichifor drove at a great pacethrough the town, the mares seemed to be almost flying. They passed the beach, the villages, and the hill at Humuleshti in a second. From Ocea nearly to Grumazeshti they went at the gallop.But the other side of Grumazeshti old Nichifor took a pull from the brandy flask which had come from Brashov, lit his pipe, and began to let the mares go their own pace.“Look, Mistress Malca, do you see that fine, large village? It is called Grumazeshti. Were I to have as many bulls and you as many sons as Cossacks, barbarians and other low people have dropped dead there from time to time, it would be well for us!”“God grant I may have sons, Mosh Nichifor.”“And may I have bulls, young lady—I have no hope of having sons; my wife is an unfruitful vine; she has not been busy enough to give me even one; may she die before long! When I am dead there’ll be nothing left but this battered old carriage and these good-for-nothing mares!”“Don’t distress yourself, Mosh Nichifor,” said Malca, “maybe God has willed it so; because it is written in our books, concerning some people, that only in their old age did they beget sons.”“Don’t bother me, Mistress Malca, with your books. I know what I know; it’s all in vain, we never can choose. I have heard it said in our church that ‘a tree that bears no fruit should be hewn down and cast into the fire.’ Can one haveanything clearer than that? Really, I wonder how I can have had patience to keep house with my old woman so long. In this respect you are a thousand times better off. If he does not give you a child you’ll get some one else. If that does not do—why then another; and in due time will come a little blessing from the Almighty. It’s not like that with us who see ourselves condemned to live with one barren stock to the end of our life with no prospect of children. After all the great and powerful Lord was not crucified for only one person in this world. Isn’t it so, young lady? If you have anything more to say, say it!”“It may be so, Mosh Nichifor.”“Dear young lady, it is as I tell you.Houp là!We have gone a good part of the way. Lord, how a man forgets the road when he’s talking, and when one wakes up who knows where one has got to. It’s a good thing the Holy God has given one companionship! Hi! daughters of a dragon, get on! Here is the Grumazeshti Forest, the anxiety of merchants and the terror of the boyars. Hei, Mistress Malca, if this forest had a mouth to tell what it has seen, our ears could not hear more terrible adventures: I know we should hear some things!”“But what has happened here, Mosh Nichifor?”“Oh, young lady, oh! God grant that what has been may never be again! One used to have some trouble to pass through here without beingrobbed, thrashed or murdered. Of course this happened more often by night than by day. As for me, up to now, I have never spoken in an unlucky hour, God preserve me! Wolves and other wild beasts have come out in front of me at different times, but I didn’t hurt them; I left them alone, I pretended not to see anything, and they went about their own business.”“Ah, Mosh Nichifor, don’t talk about wolves any more, for they terrify me.”I have told you how amusing old Nichifor was; sometimes he would say something that made you hold your sides with laughing, at other times he would bring your heart into your mouth with fear.“There is a wolf coming towards us, Mistress Malca!”“Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, where can I hide?”“Hide where you are, for I can tell you one thing, I am not afraid of the whole pack.”Then poor Malca, terrified, clung round old Nichifor’s neck, and stuck to him like a leech, and as she sat there she said, trembling:“Where is the wolf, Mosh Nichifor?”“Where is it? It crossed the road just in front of us, and went into the wood again. But if you had strangled me, young lady, and then the mares had bolted, it would have been a fine look out.”He had scarcely ceased speaking when Malca said softly:“Never tell me again that a wolf is coming, Mosh Nichifor, I shall die from fright.”“It is not that I say so; there is one just coming; there you have one!”“Alas! What are you saying?”And again she hid close to old Nichifor.“What is young is young. You want to play, young lady, isn’t that it? It seems to me you’re lucky, for I keep my self-control. I am not very afraid of the wolf, but if some one else had been in my place——”“No more wolves will come, Mosh Nichifor, will they?”“Oho! you are too funny, young lady, you want them to come too often. You mustn’t expect to see a wolf at every tree. On St. Andrew’s Day many of them prowl together in the same place and the huntsmen are on the watch. During the great hunt, do you think it’s only a few wolves that are put to shame by having to leave their skins as hostages? Now we will let the mares get their wind. Look, this is ‘Dragon Hill.’ Once an enormous dragon alighted here, which spouted flames out of his mouth, and when it whistled the forest roared, the valleys groaned, the wild beasts trembled and beat their heads together with fear, and no one dared pass by here.”“Alas! And where is the dragon, Mosh Nichifor?”“How should I know, young lady? Theforest is large, it knows where it has hidden itself. Some say that after it had eaten a great many people and peeled the bark off all the oaks in the wood it expired at this spot. By others I have heard it said that it made a black cow give it milk, and this enabled it to rise again into the skies whence it had fallen. But how do I know whom to believe? People will say anything! Luckily I understand witchcraft, and I am not at all afraid of dragons. I can take serpents out of their nest as easily as you can take a flea out of your poultry-house.”“Where did you learn these spells, Mosh Nichifor?”“Eh? My dear young lady, that I may not tell. My old woman—she was just on twenty-four when I fell in love with her—what hasn’t she done! How she has worried me to tell her, and I wouldn’t tell her. And that’s why she’ll die when she does die, but why hasn’t she died long before, for then I could have got a younger woman. For three days I can live in peace with her, and then it’s enough to kill one! I am sick to death of the old hag. Every minute she worries and reproaches me by her manner. When I think that when I return I have got to go back to her, I feel wild—just inclined to run away—nothing more nor less.”“Stop, stop, Mosh Nichifor, you men are like that.”“Eh! Mistress Malca, here we are near the top of the wood. Won’t you walk a little while we goup the hill? I only say it because I am afraid you will get stiff sitting in the carriage. Look at the lovely flowers along the edge of the wood, they fill the air with sweetness. It is really a pity for you to sit huddled up there.”“I am afraid of the wolf, Mosh Nichifor,” said Malca, shaking.“Let’s have done with that wolf. Have you nothing else to talk about?”“Stand still that I may get down.”“Wo! Step gently here on to the step of the carriage. Ah, now I see for myself that you are sturdy; that’s how I like people to be, born not laid.”While Malca gathered some balm to take to Itzic, old Nichifor stood still and tinkered a little at the carriage. Then he called quickly:“Are you ready, young lady? Come, get in and let us get on with the help of God; from here on it is mostly down hill.”After Malca has mounted she asked:“Are we a little late, Mosh Nichifor?”“If we meet with no obstacles I shall soon have you in Peatra.”And he whipped up the mares, saying:“White for the leader, white for the wheelerThe pole lies bare on the one side.Heigh! It’s not far to Galatz. Heigh!”He had scarcely gone twenty yards when—bang! An axle-pin broke.“Well, here’s a to-do!”“Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, we shall be benighted in the wood.”“Don’t take it amiss, Mistress Malca. Come, it’s only happened to me once in my life. While you eat a little something, and the mares put away a bit of fodder, I shall have replaced the axle-pin.”When old Nichifor came to look at the hook, the little axe had disappeared!“Well, what has been had to be,” said old Nichifor, knitting his eyebrows, and getting angry as he thought of it. “If God punishes the old woman, may he punish her! See how she takes care of me; there is no axe here.”When poor Malca heard this she began to sigh and to say:“Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?”“Now, young lady, don’t lose heart, for I have still a ray of hope.”He drew his pocket-knife out of its sheath, he went to the side of the carriage, and began to cut away at a young oak of the previous year. He cut it as best he could, then he began to rummage about in a box in the carriage to find some rope; but how could he find it if it had not been put in? After looking and looking in vain, he cut the cord from the nose-bag, and a strap from the bridle of one of the mares to tie the sapling where it was wanted, put the wheel in position, slipped in the bit of wood which ran from the head of the axle tothe staff-side of the carriage, twisted round the chain which connected the head of the axle with the shaft, and tied it to the step; then he lit his pipe and said:“Look, my dear young lady, how necessity teaches a man what to do. With old Nichifor of Tzutzuen no one comes to grief on the road. But from now on sit tight in the bottom of thecarriage, and hold fast to the back of your seat, for I must take these mares in hand and make them gallop. Yes, I warrant you, my old woman won’t have an easy time when I get home. I’ll play the devil with her and teach her how to treat her husband another time, for ‘a woman who has not been beaten is like a broken mill.’ Hold tight, Mistress Malca!Houp-là!”And at once the mares began to gallop, the wheels to go round, and the dust to whirl up into the sky. But in a few yards the sapling began to get hot and brittle and—off came the wheel again!“Ah! Everything is contrary! It’s evident I crossed a priest early this morning or the devil knows what.”“Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?”“We shall do what we shall do, young lady. But now stay quiet here, and don’t speak a word. It’s lucky this didn’t happen somewhere in the middle of the fields. Praise be to God, in the forest there is enough wood and to spare. Perhaps some one will catch us up who can lend me an axe.”And as he spoke he saw a man coming towards them.“Well met, good man!”“So your carriage has broken the road!”“Put chaff aside, man; it would be better if you came and helped me to mend this axle, for you can see my heart’s breaking with my ill luck.”“But I am in a hurry to get to Oshlobeni. You’ll have to lament in the forest to-night; I don’t think you’ll die of boredom.”“I am ashamed of you,” said Nichifor sulkily. “You are older than I am and yet you have such ideas in your head.”“Don’t get excited, good man, I was only joking. Good luck! The Lord will show you what to do.” And on he went.“Look, Mistress Malca, what people the devil has put in this world! He is only out to steal. If there had been a barrel of wine or brandy about, do you think he would have left the carriage stuck in the middle of the road all that time? But I see, anything there is to do must be done by old Nichifor. We must have another try.”And again he began to cut another sapling. He tried and he tried till he got that, too, into place. Then he whipped up the mares and once more trotted a little way, but at the first slope, the axle-pin broke again.“Now, Mistress Malca, I must say the same as that man, we shall have to spend the night in the forest.”“Oh! Woe is me! Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, what are you saying?”“I am saying what is obvious to my eyes. Look yourself; can’t you see the sun is going down behind the hill, and we are still in the same place? It is nothing at all, so don’t worry. I know of a clearing in the wood quite near here. We will go there, and we shall be just as though we were at home. The place is sheltered and the mares can graze. You’ll sleep in the carriage, and I shall mount guard all night. The night soon passes, we must spend it as best we can, but I will remind my old woman all the rest of her days of this misfortune, for it is her fault that things have gone so with me.”“Well, do what you think best, Mosh Nichifor; it’s sure to be right.”“Come, young lady, don’t take it too much to heart, for we shall be quite all right.”And at once old Nichifor unharnessed the mares and, turning the carriage, he drew it as well as he could, till he reached the clearing.“Mistress Malca, it is like a paradise straight from God here; where one lives for ever, one never dies! But you are not accustomed to the beauty of the world. Let us walk a little bit while we can still see, for we must collect sticks to keepenough fire going all night to ward off the mosquitoes and gnats in the world.”Poor Malca saw it was all one now. She began to walk about and collect sticks.“Lord! you look pretty, young lady. It seems as though you are one of us. Didn’t your father once keep an inn in the village somewhere?”“For a long time he kept the inn at Bodesti.”“And I was wondering how you came to speak Moldavian so well and why you looked like one of our women. I cannot believe you were really afraid of the wolf. Well, well, what do you think of this clearing? Would you like to die without knowing the beauty of the world? Do you hear the nightingales, how charming they are? Do you hear the turtle-doves calling to each other?”“Mosh Nichifor, won’t something happen to us this evening? What will Itzic say?”“Itzic? Itzic will think himself a lucky man when he sees you at home again.”“Do you think Itzic knows the world? Or what sort of accidents could happen on the road?”“He only knows how to walk about his hearth or by the oven like my worn-out old woman at home. Let me see whether you know how to make a fire.”Malca arranged the sticks; old Nichifor drew out the tinder box and soon had a flame. Then old Nichifor said:“Do you see, Mistress Malca, how beautifully the wood burns?”“I see, Mosh Nichifor, but my heart is throbbing with fear.”“Ugh! you will excuse me, but you seem to belong to the Itzic breed. Pluck up a little courage! If you are so timid, get into the carriage, and go to sleep: the night is short, daylight soon comes.”Malca, encouraged by old Nichifor, got into the carriage and lay down; old Nichifor lighted his pipe, spread out his sheepskin cloak and stretched himself by the side of the fire and puffed away at his pipe, and was just going off to sleep when a spark flew out on to his nose!“Damn! That must be a spark from the sticks Malca picked up; it has burnt me so. Are you asleep, Mistress?”“I think I was sleeping a little, Mosh Nichifor, but I had a nightmare and woke up.”“I have been unlucky too; a spark jumped out on to my nose and frightened sleep away or I might have slept all night. But can anyone sleep through the mad row these nightingales are making? They seem to do it on purpose. But then, this is their time for making love to each other. Are you asleep, young lady?”“I think I was going to sleep, Mosh Nichifor.”“Do you know, young lady, I think I will put out the fire now at once: I have just rememberedthat those wicked wolves prowl about and come after smoke.”“Put it out, Mosh Nichifor, if that’s the case.”Old Nichifor at once began to put dust on the fire to smother it.“From now on, Mistress Malca, you can sleep without anxiety till the day dawns. There! I’ve put out the fire and forgotten to light my pipe. But I’ve got the tinder box. The devil take you nightingales: I know too well you make love to each other!”Old Nichifor sat thinking deeply until he had finished his pipe, then he rose softly and went up to the carriage on the tips of his toes.Malca had begun to snore a little. Old Nichifor shook her gently and said:“Mistress Malca! Mistress Malca!”“I hear, Mosh Nichifor,” replied Malca, trembling and frightened.“Do you know what I’ve been thinking as I sat by the fire?”“What, Mosh Nichifor?”“After you have gone to sleep, I will mount one of the mares, hurry home, fetch an axle-pin and axe, and by daybreak I shall be back here again.”“Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, what are you saying? Do you want to find me dead from fright when you come back?”“May God preserve you from such a thing! Don’t be frightened, I was only talking at random.”“No, no, Mosh Nichifor, from now on I shall not want to sleep; I shall get down and sit by you all night.”“You look after yourself, young lady; you sit quietly where you are, for you are comfortable.”“I am coming all the same.”And as she spoke down she came and sat on the grass by old Nichifor. And first one, and then the other was overcome by sleep, till both were slumbering profoundly. And when they woke it was broad daylight.“See, Mistress Malca, here’s the blessed day! Get up and come and see what’s to be done. There, no one has eaten you, have they? Only you have had a great fright!”Malca fell asleep again at these words. But old Nichifor, like a careful man, got up into the carriage, and began rummaging about all over the place, and under the forage bags, and what should there be but the axe and a measure and a gimlet beneath the seat.“Who would have believed it! Here’s a pity! I was wondering why my old woman didn’t take care of me. Now because I wronged her so terribly I must take her back a red fez and a bag of butter to remind her of our youth. Evidently I took them out yesterday with my pipe. But my poor, good old wife, difficult though she is, knew all I should want on the journey, only she did not put them in their right place. But the woman tried to understandall her husband wanted! Mistress Malca! Mistress Malca!”“What is it, Mosh Nichifor?”“Do you know that I have found the axe, and the rope and the gimlet and everything I want.”“Where, Mosh Nichifor?”“Why, under your bundles. Only they had no mouths with which to tell me. We have made a mistake: we have been like some one sitting on hidden treasure and asking for alms. But it’s good that we have found them now. It shows my poor old woman did put them in.”“Mosh Nichifor, you are feeling remorse in your heart.”“Well, yes, young lady. I see I am at fault. I must sing a song of penitence:Poor old wife of mine!Be she kind or be she harsh,Still her home is mine.”And so saying old Nichifor rolled up his sleeves, cut a beech stick, and made a wonderful axle-pin. Then he set it in position, put the wheel in place, harnessed the mares, quietly took the road and said:“In you get, young lady, and let’s start.”As the mares were refreshed and well rested they were at Peatra by middle day.“There you will see your home, Mistress Malca.”“Thank God, Mosh Nichifor, that I came to no harm in the forest.”“The fact is, young lady, there’s no doubt about it, there’s no place like home.”And while they were talking they reached the door of Itzic’s house. Itzic had only just come back from the school, and when he saw Malca he was beside himself with joy. But when he heard all about the adventures they had met with and how the Almighty had delivered them from danger he did not know how to thank old Nichifor enough. What did he not give him! He himself marvelled at all that was given him. The next day old Nichifor went back with other customers. And when he reached home he was so gay that his old woman wondered what he had been doing, for he was more drunk than he had been for a long time.From now on Malca came every two or three weeks to visit her parents-in-law in Neamtzu: she would only let old Nichifor take her back home, and she was never again afraid of wolves.A year, or perhaps several years, after, over a glass of wine, old Nichifor whispered to one of his friends the story of the adventure in the “Dragon” Wood, and the fright Mistress Malca got. Old Nichifor’s friend whispered it again to some friends of his own, and then people, the way people will do, began to give old Nichifor a nickname and say: “Nichifor, the Impostor: Nichifor, the Impostor:” and even though he is dead the poor man has kept the name of Nichifor, the Impostor, to this very day.

ZidraBy M. BezaWe were talking in the inn at Grabova and passing round the wine without troubling ourselves as to the lateness of the hour. In time we began to sing—as it is the custom to sing in these parts. One raises his voice, while the others subdue theirs, till all take up the chorus:Your head lies in my pouch,Zidra, mighty Zidra!Only our friend, Mitu Dola, was silent; he was much moved and kept turning first to one side and then to the other.“Oh, that song!” he gasped when we stopped. Then suddenly to me: “Do you know who Zidra was? And do you know who killed Zidra?”He took up his mug, drank from it several times, and then, with a brain clouded by distant memories and the strong wine, he began to tell me the story:“It must be some thirty years ago. Zidra wasthen a haiduk in the Smolcu mountains. What a man! There was a heavy price upon his head. His very name, passed from mouth to mouth, brought a wave of fear. And we children would gather together in the evening under the eaves of the fountains, by the church doors, and talk of Zidra. This much we knew: at one time he had lived amongst us and then had unexpectedly disappeared from the village; on account of some murder everybody said. After a long time he appeared again, robbing a long way this side of Smolcu: ‘Zidra is at Seven-Hills; Zidra is in the Vigla Forest.’“Whispering thus secretly, we would glance over our shoulders. We would shiver as though we could feel a cold breath from the dark thicket whence Zidra might appear. I pictured him just like my father, probably because my father, too, was a striking figure. In a coat with long flowing sleeves, his cap on one side, and his belt loaded with pistols, my father—like all tax-gatherers at that period—was on the road a great deal of his time, so that my mother and I remained alone for weeks on end.“We had a house just on the outskirts of the village surrounded by a beech wood, the shadows of which hung darkly above our heads. How it would begin to moan at night! The rustling of the leaves, the prolonged roar of the rocking trees was like some great waterfall. From our soft bed, clasped in my mother’s arms, I listened to the fiercedin. From time to time it ceased; then, through the silence, came the sound of whistling, of shots, of the trampling of horses and of men.“I sighed with terror. ‘Mother, supposing robbers should attack us.’ ‘Hush! It is unlucky to speak of such things.’ ‘You know, mother, Zidra is in Vigla Forest.’ When I first mentioned this name my mother trembled and started back, but quickly coming forward she said hastily and with unusual anxiety: ‘Who told you this?’ ‘Cousin Gushu, mother. Gushu’s father, mother, saw a host of vultures over Vigla Forest circling round.’“My mother repeated in a puzzled way: ‘Vultures circling round——’ Then, after thinking a moment, she said to herself: ‘That is it; that is where he halted and had his food—the vultures are attracted by the smell.’“My father, arriving a few days later, said the same thing, while he added that some shepherds had also seen Zidra. My mother was delicate, her features bore the melancholy expression of some hidden sorrow. She looked wan and remained staring into space. ‘Eh? What?’ said my father sternly. ‘Why should I be afraid of Zidra?’“He closed the conversation. But into our house there crept an unexplained disquietude—something intangible, blowing like an icy breath that made my mother shudder. How could I understand then? Time alone has given me the explanation of it all. And to-day when I thinkof the spot where this dark mystery unfolded itself old scenes and things emerge from oblivion and stand vividly before me. I see the yard of our house with the door opening into the wood, the staircase leading into the bedroom; here is the hearth and along the walls are the great wooden cupboards. Sitting upon the corner-seat by the fire my mother spun at her wheel—often she would start to spin but seemed as though she could not. She would constantly stop, her thoughts were elsewhere. And if I asked her anything, she would nod her head without listening to me. Only when, amid the loud rustle of the trees, I would mention Zidra she would turn quickly, her eyes wide open, and say with a shiver: ‘Zidra?’ ‘Yes, mother.’“And when night fell she would try the doors one after the other. She would walk up and down, a pine-torch in her hand, passing through visions of horror, and with her went the smoking flame which rose and fell as it struggled with the shadows, moving upon the ceilings and floors and on the walls of the room where the sofa was, where it lit up for a second the hanging weapons: an old musket, two scimitars, some pistols.“Sometimes there was a pleasant silence over everything. The wood slept, the country, too, was asleep. Then, in the light of the little icon-lamp, could be heard the gentle hum of the spinning-wheel, murmuring like a golden beetle in a fairy-tale, lulling me till I slept.“During one of these nights—the wheel stopped and I heard my mother saying: ‘Tuesday at Custur, Wednesday at Lehova, Thursday—Thursday——’ She knew where my father usually stayed and was calculating.“Becoming confused she began again from the beginning: ‘Tuesday at Custur, Wednesday at Lehova, Thursday—Thursday on the road.’ And she rose. She went to the lamp to pour in oil that it might burn till the daylight. In the meantime a noise came from the yard and was repeated more loudly. ‘Mother, some one is knocking!’ ‘Who could be knocking?’ she murmured.“After a moment of indecision she went downstairs. Unintelligible words followed—a man’s voice, the door was shaken. My mother began to speak gently, inaudibly. Soon everything was silent again. By my side I could hear my mother’s breath, coming short and with difficulty, but her tongue remained tied. When she recovered herself she said suddenly: ‘Can I? How can I open? I am married. I cannot.’ ‘To whom, mother—to whom must you open?’ She took me tremblingly in her arms, squeezed me to her, and pressed her burning cheek against mine. ‘You are too little. You do not understand, my treasure!’“And, after a while, talking more to herself, while the tears flowed slowly down her cheeks: ‘At the fountain in Plaiu—it is long ago. We pledged our word—at dusk—God saw us; and inthe end he made off one day, and I waited for him—years and years I waited. Now what does he want? I am married. What does he expect? Why did he come?’“Thus much I remember. I fell asleep close to my mother. The next day she might just have got up after a long illness so white was she in the face, with fear shining in her eyes. When my father saw her he raised the thick bushy eyebrows which gave such a harsh appearance to his hairy face. ‘There is something wrong, something has happened.’“Could she deny it? They went into the room where the sofa stood, and soon after my father broke out with: ‘From henceforth either I or he!’ And he stormed about, taking long heavy strides while the weapons clattered on the wall. He swore, and added with a wild burst of laughter: ‘Ha, ha! And the head and two hundred ducats!’“From now on he no longer took the road; he remained on guard. Spies began to move about. Fierce-looking men knocked at the door. My father went out, exchanged some rapid words with them, among which could be continually heard the name of Zidra, and they disappeared. But what were those cries, those sharp whistles through the night? Often, too, across the hillocks came the sound of stones—stones striking one against the other, and my father replied in the same way. And the knocking sounds rose sonorous, ringing through the darkness as though some strange birdswere rattling their beaks. I heard it in my sleep and shuddered. ‘Have no fear,’ whispered my mother, ‘it is nothing, my dear one. Your father is talking—with some sentries.’“A few weeks passed thus, until one midnight there appeared in the further room four men in black cloaks, carrying guns; they seemed to have sprung out of the ground. They shook hands and without a moment’s pause began moving about in the ruddy, uncertain light of the pine-torch. In the silence outside—a silence caused by the fog which deadened all sound—their words could be overheard. As my father slung his scimitar over his shoulder, one of them said in a loud clear voice: ‘At Sticótur, in the monastery.’ ‘Since when?’ ‘Since dinner-time to-day—he is eating and drinking.’ ‘The man is caught,’ said another. ‘He can’t escape this time.’“They went out quickly; they were lost in the black darkness which began to vibrate with the rising of the wind. The bushes rattled and bent beneath the rain—storms of rain beat and splashed against the window-panes, a sea of sound, storm after storm.”Here, as far as I can remember, Mitu Dola brought the story to a close. I asked:“How did it end?”“Didn’t you hear the song? My father took the head and put it in his pouch. As he said, ‘and the head and two hundred ducats.’”

Zidra

By M. BezaWe were talking in the inn at Grabova and passing round the wine without troubling ourselves as to the lateness of the hour. In time we began to sing—as it is the custom to sing in these parts. One raises his voice, while the others subdue theirs, till all take up the chorus:Your head lies in my pouch,Zidra, mighty Zidra!Only our friend, Mitu Dola, was silent; he was much moved and kept turning first to one side and then to the other.“Oh, that song!” he gasped when we stopped. Then suddenly to me: “Do you know who Zidra was? And do you know who killed Zidra?”He took up his mug, drank from it several times, and then, with a brain clouded by distant memories and the strong wine, he began to tell me the story:“It must be some thirty years ago. Zidra wasthen a haiduk in the Smolcu mountains. What a man! There was a heavy price upon his head. His very name, passed from mouth to mouth, brought a wave of fear. And we children would gather together in the evening under the eaves of the fountains, by the church doors, and talk of Zidra. This much we knew: at one time he had lived amongst us and then had unexpectedly disappeared from the village; on account of some murder everybody said. After a long time he appeared again, robbing a long way this side of Smolcu: ‘Zidra is at Seven-Hills; Zidra is in the Vigla Forest.’“Whispering thus secretly, we would glance over our shoulders. We would shiver as though we could feel a cold breath from the dark thicket whence Zidra might appear. I pictured him just like my father, probably because my father, too, was a striking figure. In a coat with long flowing sleeves, his cap on one side, and his belt loaded with pistols, my father—like all tax-gatherers at that period—was on the road a great deal of his time, so that my mother and I remained alone for weeks on end.“We had a house just on the outskirts of the village surrounded by a beech wood, the shadows of which hung darkly above our heads. How it would begin to moan at night! The rustling of the leaves, the prolonged roar of the rocking trees was like some great waterfall. From our soft bed, clasped in my mother’s arms, I listened to the fiercedin. From time to time it ceased; then, through the silence, came the sound of whistling, of shots, of the trampling of horses and of men.“I sighed with terror. ‘Mother, supposing robbers should attack us.’ ‘Hush! It is unlucky to speak of such things.’ ‘You know, mother, Zidra is in Vigla Forest.’ When I first mentioned this name my mother trembled and started back, but quickly coming forward she said hastily and with unusual anxiety: ‘Who told you this?’ ‘Cousin Gushu, mother. Gushu’s father, mother, saw a host of vultures over Vigla Forest circling round.’“My mother repeated in a puzzled way: ‘Vultures circling round——’ Then, after thinking a moment, she said to herself: ‘That is it; that is where he halted and had his food—the vultures are attracted by the smell.’“My father, arriving a few days later, said the same thing, while he added that some shepherds had also seen Zidra. My mother was delicate, her features bore the melancholy expression of some hidden sorrow. She looked wan and remained staring into space. ‘Eh? What?’ said my father sternly. ‘Why should I be afraid of Zidra?’“He closed the conversation. But into our house there crept an unexplained disquietude—something intangible, blowing like an icy breath that made my mother shudder. How could I understand then? Time alone has given me the explanation of it all. And to-day when I thinkof the spot where this dark mystery unfolded itself old scenes and things emerge from oblivion and stand vividly before me. I see the yard of our house with the door opening into the wood, the staircase leading into the bedroom; here is the hearth and along the walls are the great wooden cupboards. Sitting upon the corner-seat by the fire my mother spun at her wheel—often she would start to spin but seemed as though she could not. She would constantly stop, her thoughts were elsewhere. And if I asked her anything, she would nod her head without listening to me. Only when, amid the loud rustle of the trees, I would mention Zidra she would turn quickly, her eyes wide open, and say with a shiver: ‘Zidra?’ ‘Yes, mother.’“And when night fell she would try the doors one after the other. She would walk up and down, a pine-torch in her hand, passing through visions of horror, and with her went the smoking flame which rose and fell as it struggled with the shadows, moving upon the ceilings and floors and on the walls of the room where the sofa was, where it lit up for a second the hanging weapons: an old musket, two scimitars, some pistols.“Sometimes there was a pleasant silence over everything. The wood slept, the country, too, was asleep. Then, in the light of the little icon-lamp, could be heard the gentle hum of the spinning-wheel, murmuring like a golden beetle in a fairy-tale, lulling me till I slept.“During one of these nights—the wheel stopped and I heard my mother saying: ‘Tuesday at Custur, Wednesday at Lehova, Thursday—Thursday——’ She knew where my father usually stayed and was calculating.“Becoming confused she began again from the beginning: ‘Tuesday at Custur, Wednesday at Lehova, Thursday—Thursday on the road.’ And she rose. She went to the lamp to pour in oil that it might burn till the daylight. In the meantime a noise came from the yard and was repeated more loudly. ‘Mother, some one is knocking!’ ‘Who could be knocking?’ she murmured.“After a moment of indecision she went downstairs. Unintelligible words followed—a man’s voice, the door was shaken. My mother began to speak gently, inaudibly. Soon everything was silent again. By my side I could hear my mother’s breath, coming short and with difficulty, but her tongue remained tied. When she recovered herself she said suddenly: ‘Can I? How can I open? I am married. I cannot.’ ‘To whom, mother—to whom must you open?’ She took me tremblingly in her arms, squeezed me to her, and pressed her burning cheek against mine. ‘You are too little. You do not understand, my treasure!’“And, after a while, talking more to herself, while the tears flowed slowly down her cheeks: ‘At the fountain in Plaiu—it is long ago. We pledged our word—at dusk—God saw us; and inthe end he made off one day, and I waited for him—years and years I waited. Now what does he want? I am married. What does he expect? Why did he come?’“Thus much I remember. I fell asleep close to my mother. The next day she might just have got up after a long illness so white was she in the face, with fear shining in her eyes. When my father saw her he raised the thick bushy eyebrows which gave such a harsh appearance to his hairy face. ‘There is something wrong, something has happened.’“Could she deny it? They went into the room where the sofa stood, and soon after my father broke out with: ‘From henceforth either I or he!’ And he stormed about, taking long heavy strides while the weapons clattered on the wall. He swore, and added with a wild burst of laughter: ‘Ha, ha! And the head and two hundred ducats!’“From now on he no longer took the road; he remained on guard. Spies began to move about. Fierce-looking men knocked at the door. My father went out, exchanged some rapid words with them, among which could be continually heard the name of Zidra, and they disappeared. But what were those cries, those sharp whistles through the night? Often, too, across the hillocks came the sound of stones—stones striking one against the other, and my father replied in the same way. And the knocking sounds rose sonorous, ringing through the darkness as though some strange birdswere rattling their beaks. I heard it in my sleep and shuddered. ‘Have no fear,’ whispered my mother, ‘it is nothing, my dear one. Your father is talking—with some sentries.’“A few weeks passed thus, until one midnight there appeared in the further room four men in black cloaks, carrying guns; they seemed to have sprung out of the ground. They shook hands and without a moment’s pause began moving about in the ruddy, uncertain light of the pine-torch. In the silence outside—a silence caused by the fog which deadened all sound—their words could be overheard. As my father slung his scimitar over his shoulder, one of them said in a loud clear voice: ‘At Sticótur, in the monastery.’ ‘Since when?’ ‘Since dinner-time to-day—he is eating and drinking.’ ‘The man is caught,’ said another. ‘He can’t escape this time.’“They went out quickly; they were lost in the black darkness which began to vibrate with the rising of the wind. The bushes rattled and bent beneath the rain—storms of rain beat and splashed against the window-panes, a sea of sound, storm after storm.”Here, as far as I can remember, Mitu Dola brought the story to a close. I asked:“How did it end?”“Didn’t you hear the song? My father took the head and put it in his pouch. As he said, ‘and the head and two hundred ducats.’”

By M. Beza

We were talking in the inn at Grabova and passing round the wine without troubling ourselves as to the lateness of the hour. In time we began to sing—as it is the custom to sing in these parts. One raises his voice, while the others subdue theirs, till all take up the chorus:

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

Your head lies in my pouch,

Zidra, mighty Zidra!

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

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

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

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

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

“We had a house just on the outskirts of the village surrounded by a beech wood, the shadows of which hung darkly above our heads. How it would begin to moan at night! The rustling of the leaves, the prolonged roar of the rocking trees was like some great waterfall. From our soft bed, clasped in my mother’s arms, I listened to the fiercedin. From time to time it ceased; then, through the silence, came the sound of whistling, of shots, of the trampling of horses and of men.

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

“My mother repeated in a puzzled way: ‘Vultures circling round——’ Then, after thinking a moment, she said to herself: ‘That is it; that is where he halted and had his food—the vultures are attracted by the smell.’

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

“He closed the conversation. But into our house there crept an unexplained disquietude—something intangible, blowing like an icy breath that made my mother shudder. How could I understand then? Time alone has given me the explanation of it all. And to-day when I thinkof the spot where this dark mystery unfolded itself old scenes and things emerge from oblivion and stand vividly before me. I see the yard of our house with the door opening into the wood, the staircase leading into the bedroom; here is the hearth and along the walls are the great wooden cupboards. Sitting upon the corner-seat by the fire my mother spun at her wheel—often she would start to spin but seemed as though she could not. She would constantly stop, her thoughts were elsewhere. And if I asked her anything, she would nod her head without listening to me. Only when, amid the loud rustle of the trees, I would mention Zidra she would turn quickly, her eyes wide open, and say with a shiver: ‘Zidra?’ ‘Yes, mother.’

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

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

“During one of these nights—the wheel stopped and I heard my mother saying: ‘Tuesday at Custur, Wednesday at Lehova, Thursday—Thursday——’ She knew where my father usually stayed and was calculating.

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

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

“And, after a while, talking more to herself, while the tears flowed slowly down her cheeks: ‘At the fountain in Plaiu—it is long ago. We pledged our word—at dusk—God saw us; and inthe end he made off one day, and I waited for him—years and years I waited. Now what does he want? I am married. What does he expect? Why did he come?’

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

“Could she deny it? They went into the room where the sofa stood, and soon after my father broke out with: ‘From henceforth either I or he!’ And he stormed about, taking long heavy strides while the weapons clattered on the wall. He swore, and added with a wild burst of laughter: ‘Ha, ha! And the head and two hundred ducats!’

“From now on he no longer took the road; he remained on guard. Spies began to move about. Fierce-looking men knocked at the door. My father went out, exchanged some rapid words with them, among which could be continually heard the name of Zidra, and they disappeared. But what were those cries, those sharp whistles through the night? Often, too, across the hillocks came the sound of stones—stones striking one against the other, and my father replied in the same way. And the knocking sounds rose sonorous, ringing through the darkness as though some strange birdswere rattling their beaks. I heard it in my sleep and shuddered. ‘Have no fear,’ whispered my mother, ‘it is nothing, my dear one. Your father is talking—with some sentries.’

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

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

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

“How did it end?”

“Didn’t you hear the song? My father took the head and put it in his pouch. As he said, ‘and the head and two hundred ducats.’”

GardanaBy M. BezaMitu Tega returned to the house much annoyed. As he entered his wife asked him:“Well, has he not turned up yet?”“No, not to-day either.”“This is what happens when you rely on an unknown man, a stranger. Suppose he never comes. God forbid that he should go off with the whole herd!”Tega did not reply. He sat motionless in the silent veranda, which gradually grew dark with shadows of the evening mist, and pondered. Of course such things did happen; he might have taken the goats and gone off, in which case let him find him who can! Where could one look for him? Whither could one follow him?And as he meditated thus he seemed to see the shepherd before his eyes; he called to mind the first day he had seen him; a terrible man, like a wild man from the woods, with a great moustachelost in a hard, black beard, which left only his eyes and cheek-bones visible. He came into him, and without looking him in the face, said:“I have heard—some people told me that you want a man to tend the bucks. Take me, I am a shepherd.”Tega gave him one look, he was just the kind of man he wanted. He asked him:“Where do you come from?”“I come—well, from Blatza. Toli—Toli the shepherd—I have been with many other goat owners.”Tega looked at him again, considered a little, and said:“Good, I’ll take you; may you prove honest, for, look, many a man has cheated me, and many a man has stolen from me up to now.”And so he engaged him. Toli stayed with Tega, and no one could have conducted himself better.A month later they went together to the Salonica district, where they bought goats, over eight hundred head. When it was time to return, Tega—for fear of attack by brigands—went ahead secretly, leaving Toli to follow on alone with the herd. The days slipped by—one week, two—Toli did not put in an appearance. What could have happened? Many ideas passed through Tega’s brain. Especially after what his wife had said. At night he could not sleep. He dozed for a while, and then wokeagain, with his mind on the shepherd, tormenting himself, until the crowing of the cocks heralded the dawn. Then he got up; and, as he was short and plump, he took a staff in his hand, and proceeded to the nearest hill whence could be seen the country opening out as flat as the palm of a hand.At that hour the first blush of dawn glowed in the east. And slowly, slowly rose the sun. Round, purple, fiery, it lit first the crests of the mountains, then flashed its rays into the heart of the valleys; the window-panes in the village suddenly caught the fiery light; the birds began to fly; on the ground, among the glistening dew, flowers raised their heads out of the fresh grass, a wealth of daisies and buttercups like little goblets of gold. But Mitu Tega had no time for such things. His eyes were searching the landscape. Something was moving yonder—a cloud of dust.“The herd, it is the herd!” murmured Tega.He could hear the light, soft tinkle of the bells, sounding melodiously in the spring morning. And see, see—the herd drew near, the bell-carrier in front, two dogs with them, and last of all the shepherd with his cloak round his shoulder.“Welcome,” cried Tega with all his heart. “But, Toli, you have tarried a long while. I was beginning to wonder——”“What would you, I did not come direct, I had to go round.”The bucks played around, a fine, picked lot withsilky hair, they roamed about, and Tega felt as though he, too, could skip about, could take the shepherd in his arms, and embrace him for sheer joy.As in other years, Tega kept the herd on the neighbouring slopes, on the Aitosh hills. It was Toli’s business to get the bread, salt, and all that was needed, and once every two or three days, leaving the herd in the care of a comrade, he would take his way to his employer’s house. Usually Tega’s wife would be spinning at her wheel when he went in.“Good day!”“Welcome, Toli,” the woman said pleasantly. “Tega is not at home at present, but sit down, Toli, sit down, and wait till he comes.”The shepherd took off his cloak, and did not say another word.The veranda where they were sitting was upstairs; through the open windows the eye could follow the distant view; the hills lay slumbering in the afternoon light, along their foot lay a road—processions of laden mules, whole caravans ascending slowly and laboriously, winding along in bluish lines till lost to sight over the brow of the hill. The woman followed them with her eyes, and without moving, from her wheel, pointing with her hand, she said:“There are sheepfolds yonder, too, aren’t there?”The shepherd nodded his head.“I never asked you, Toli, how are the goatsdoing? Do you think my man chose well this year?”“Well, very well.”That was all. He said no more. His deep-set eyes were sad, and black as the night. A minute later footsteps sounded in the garden, and then the voice of a neighbour:“Where are you, dear, where have you hidden yourself?”“Here, Lena, here,” replied the woman upstairs.Lena mounted the stairs. Behind her came Doda Sili and Mia; they had all brought their work, for they would not go away till late in the evening.“Have you heard?” asked Lena.“What?”“Two more murders.”Suspicion had fallen upon Gardana. He had become a kind of vampire about whom many tales were told. Especially old men, if they could engage you in conversation, would try and impress you with the story.In a village lived a maiden, modest and very beautiful. She was small, of the same age as Gardana, who was a boy then. They were fond of each other, they played together, they kissed each other—they kissed as children kiss. But after a while the girl’s form took on the soft curves of coming womanhood; then it came to pass that theynever kissed each other, they knew not why, and when they were alone they did not venture to look into each other’s eyes; she would blush like a ripe apple, and Gardana’s lips would tremble. Then there appeared upon the scene, from somewhere, a certain Dina, son of a rich somebody; the girl pleased him, and he sent her an offer of marriage. Her father did not think twice, her father gave her to him.And Gardana—would you believe it—after he realized that it was hard fact, gnashed his teeth, beat his breast, and disappeared. Two days later he was on the mountains, and a gang with him.Eh! love knows no bounds, love builds, but love also destroys many homes.The girl’s father was seized and murdered; not long after Dina was murdered too. Then Gardana spread terror for many years in succession.For some time now, whatever he might have been doing, wherever he might be in hiding, nothing had been heard of him. But as soon as something happened, his name once again passed round the village: “Gardana, it is Gardana!”Perhaps it was not he, perhaps he had left the mountains, perhaps even he was dead; but the people who knew something——“How many did you say there were?” asked Mia.“Two; both merchants. They came from abroad.”“And who can have murdered them?”“No one but—Gardana.”“How is it? But is Gardana still alive?”“Come, do you think he really is dead? No, no, they alone give this kind of tidings of themselves.”“And why?”“They have to be on their guard, the bailiffs are after them, they might capture them.”“Perhaps——”The spinning-wheel spun on. The spool wound the thread, the treadle hummed, filling the room with a soothing noise.Doda Sili said wonderingly:“Who knows what kind of man he is?”“Gardana?”“Gardana.”“Not a very big man, but large enough to terrify one, with a black beard—oh, so black!—and, when you least expect it, there he is on your road, just as though he had sprung out of the ground. Didn’t our Toli once meet him!”“How was that?”The spinning-wheel stopped suddenly. A swarm of gnats came in through the windows, and buzzed round in the warmth of the sun; and Lena said quietly:“It was on his way from the sheepfold; he came upon Gardana on the Padea-Murgu.”“Oh, it might have been somebody else.”“It was he, he himself, with that beard, those garments——”And so the conversation continued. Toli, the shepherd, took no part in the talk. He sat over on the floor, silent, impassive—like a moss-grown stone. Only occasionally he raised his bushy eyebrows, and a troubled, misty look shone in his eyes. Tega’s wife wondered to herself, she could not understand him; really, what was the matter with him? He was brave, she knew he had not his equal for courage, when he had charge of the herd not an animal was ever lost; all the same, what a man he was, always frowning, and never a smile on his lips! There must be something with him, naturally it must be—— And breaking off her train of thought she suddenly spoke to him.“Toli, during all the months you have been with us I have never asked you whether you are married?”The question was unexpected. The shepherd seemed to be considering. Then he answered:“No.”“What? You have never married? Have you no wife, no home?”“Home—ah!” he sighed. “You are right, even I once had a home, even I had hopes of a bride, but they came to nought—what would you, it was not written in the book of destiny—I was poor.”He spoke haltingly, and his eyes wandered hereand there. And after one motion of his hand, as though to say “I have much sorrow in my heart,” he added:“That girl is dead—and I, too, shall die, everything will die.”One afternoon in March, as the shepherd did not appear, Mitu Tega prepared to go alone to the fold. He brought out the horse, bought two bags of bread, and a lamb freshly killed, went to the mill where he procured some barley, and then on slowly, quietly—he on foot, the horse in front—till he reached his destination just as the sun was disappearing behind the Aitosh mountains.The shepherds rubbed their eyes when they saw him, but he called out:“I have brought a lamb for roasting.”“You must eat it with us,” said Toli, “and stay the night here.”“No, for they expect me at home.”“Will you start back at this hour?” put in Panu, Toli’s comrade. “The night brings many perils.”It was getting quite dark. Stars twinkled. Whether he wished to or not, Mitu Tega was obliged to remain. Then the shepherds set to work; one put the lamb on to the spit, and lit the fire; the other fetched boughs from the wood. He brought whole branches with which they prepared a shelter for the night for Tega—within was abed of green bracken. Then all three stretched themselves by the fire. Gradually the flames sank a little, on the heap of live coals the lamb began to brown, and spit with fat, and send out an appetizing smell. The moon shone through the bushes; they seemed to move beneath the hard, cold light which flooded the solitude. The shadows of the mountains stretched away indefinitely. Above, some night birds crossed unseen, flapping their wings. Mitu Tega turned his head. For a moment his glance was arrested: by Toli’s side, a gun and a long scimitar lay shining on the ground. He was not nervous, otherwise——He glanced at Toli.“What a man!” thought Tega. “I have nothing to fear while I am with him.”They began to eat, quickly and hungrily, tearing the meat with their fingers, not speaking a word. Toli picked up the shoulder-bone of the lamb, and drew near the fire, to scrutinize it, for some omen for the future.“What’s the matter?” Tega asked.“Nothing—only it seems to me—that there is blood everywhere, that blood pursues. Look, and you, too, Panu.”“There is,” murmured Panu, “a little blood, one can see a spot, two red patches.”The hours passed. The dogs started off towards the woods. From their bark there might be dangerous men on the move. Toli listened a moment, took his gun, and said quickly to Tega:“Have you any weapon about you?”“I have—a pistol.”“Take it out, and go in there, and do not move. But you, Panu, get more over there—not near the fire, move into the shadow.”He had scarcely finished speaking before the brigands were upon them. They came stealthily through the bushes, avoiding the moonlight, but the shepherd saw them, and without waiting fired a chance shot.“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” cried the robbers.A great noise arose—the flock scattered, the barking of the dogs became gradually more and more excited; there was another report, and yet another. Toli’s gun gave a dull sound and was followed by several cries:“You will kill us all like this, all——”“Down with your arms, lay down your arms!” cried Toli.“Look, man, we are putting them down; only don’t shoot.”“Drop them!”Toli’s voice thundered. His voice alone was enough to make one tremble.The brigands threw down their arms, and advanced. There were three of them. One was quite a young man, about thirty-five years of age, with a worn face, and very pale. Blood was flowing from one foot and clotting on to his white gaiters as it flowed. Toli went up to him and said:“I have wounded you—have I wounded you?”The brigand did not reply. Toli crossed his arms and shaking his head asked:“Was it me you meant to rob? Was it me you meant to attack? Do you know who I am?”They looked into each other’s eyes, they stared at each other—deep into each other’s eyes they gazed. Each one was thinking: “Where have I seen him before?” for they had surely known each other somewhere. Vague memories of their past life, of bygone years began to stir, and gradually, recollection dawned.“Gardana,” said the brigand, “is it you?”Mitu Tega was startled. He shivered as though iced water were being poured down his back. Who had uttered that name? Where was Gardana? He was thunder-struck by what followed: Toli and the robbers shook hands, embraced each other and conversed with each other.“Gardana, Gardana, I thought you were dead—they told me you had died, Gardana!”“No, brother,” said Toli. “It might have been better if I had died.”Then after, a short pause:“But you are in pain, brother; I have hurt you—look, you were within an ace of being killed, brother Manole, and I should have had another man’s soul, and another man’s blood upon my head. There, you were nearly killed. What brought you, what drew you within range of my gun? Withinan ace, brother Manole—another man’s soul, another man’s blood——”For the first time for many years he seemed moved with self-pity. He tore a strip from his shirt, bent over Manole, and dressed his wound. The others watched, amazed. The waters were sleeping, the forests were sleeping. From the trees, from the valleys, from the grass, came voices murmuring in the silence of the night, soft, remote, a sort of breath, more like a sigh from the sleeping earth. Manole spoke:“Do you remember, Gardana? We were on the Baitan mountains, you know—at Piatra-de-Furca—we were together when the bailiffs hemmed us in on all sides—a host of them. We held our own till nightfall. Eh! and then I saw what stuff Gardana was made of! You gave us one call and went straight ahead—we after you, and so we escaped, we cut our way through with our scimitars. Then, when the trumpets gave the alarm, and the guns began to go off, I lost sight of you, Gardana; we were all scattered, I remained alone in the valley under Piatra-de-Furca. Do you remember? It must be five years, more—six years ago. Where are all our comrades now?”“Our comrades—they have gone away, I let them go. Brother Manole, heavy curses lie on my head—enough to crush me, brother. I was not a bad man. You know how many times I went to Dina. I said: ‘Don’t drive me too far, bethinkyourself.’ And I went to the girl’s father. But you see Dina was rich, Dina had flocks of sheep. And her father gave her to him without asking whether the girl loved him. And after that, tell me, brother, could I sit patiently by, bite my nails and say nothing? Could I?”Toli Gardana ceased speaking. After a moment of reflection he added softly:“But the girl faded away—she died of grief and disappointment. One day the earth will cover me too, our bodies may rot anywhere, and no one will weep—not a tear, they will all rejoice. I don’t know, brother, but since that girl died it seems to me I am not the man I was. I wanted to kill myself, I roamed about here, and one day I went to Tega. I was strong—I gave out that I came from Blatza, and that I was a shepherd; who was he that he should know differently! But you, brother, how has the world treated you?”“Harshly, Gardana. I was shut up in Tricol for three years. Prison cut me off from life. For months I dug—with hands and nails I dug—until one night, during a storm, I broke through the wall and escaped with these two companions. And when I found myself back among these mountains my thoughts turned to you. I had heard you were dead, Gardana; but see what has happened, and how it has come to pass, how fate brings these things about, brother Gardana ... it is not a month since I escaped....”Before they were aware of it the shadows of the night began to melt away. The brigands ceased to speak as though they feared the signs of the coming day. They remained silent, their heads upon the ground in the face of the glory of the flaming dawn.Toli Gardana asked:“Where are you going now?”“How should we know? No matter where. There are many forests.”

Gardana

By M. BezaMitu Tega returned to the house much annoyed. As he entered his wife asked him:“Well, has he not turned up yet?”“No, not to-day either.”“This is what happens when you rely on an unknown man, a stranger. Suppose he never comes. God forbid that he should go off with the whole herd!”Tega did not reply. He sat motionless in the silent veranda, which gradually grew dark with shadows of the evening mist, and pondered. Of course such things did happen; he might have taken the goats and gone off, in which case let him find him who can! Where could one look for him? Whither could one follow him?And as he meditated thus he seemed to see the shepherd before his eyes; he called to mind the first day he had seen him; a terrible man, like a wild man from the woods, with a great moustachelost in a hard, black beard, which left only his eyes and cheek-bones visible. He came into him, and without looking him in the face, said:“I have heard—some people told me that you want a man to tend the bucks. Take me, I am a shepherd.”Tega gave him one look, he was just the kind of man he wanted. He asked him:“Where do you come from?”“I come—well, from Blatza. Toli—Toli the shepherd—I have been with many other goat owners.”Tega looked at him again, considered a little, and said:“Good, I’ll take you; may you prove honest, for, look, many a man has cheated me, and many a man has stolen from me up to now.”And so he engaged him. Toli stayed with Tega, and no one could have conducted himself better.A month later they went together to the Salonica district, where they bought goats, over eight hundred head. When it was time to return, Tega—for fear of attack by brigands—went ahead secretly, leaving Toli to follow on alone with the herd. The days slipped by—one week, two—Toli did not put in an appearance. What could have happened? Many ideas passed through Tega’s brain. Especially after what his wife had said. At night he could not sleep. He dozed for a while, and then wokeagain, with his mind on the shepherd, tormenting himself, until the crowing of the cocks heralded the dawn. Then he got up; and, as he was short and plump, he took a staff in his hand, and proceeded to the nearest hill whence could be seen the country opening out as flat as the palm of a hand.At that hour the first blush of dawn glowed in the east. And slowly, slowly rose the sun. Round, purple, fiery, it lit first the crests of the mountains, then flashed its rays into the heart of the valleys; the window-panes in the village suddenly caught the fiery light; the birds began to fly; on the ground, among the glistening dew, flowers raised their heads out of the fresh grass, a wealth of daisies and buttercups like little goblets of gold. But Mitu Tega had no time for such things. His eyes were searching the landscape. Something was moving yonder—a cloud of dust.“The herd, it is the herd!” murmured Tega.He could hear the light, soft tinkle of the bells, sounding melodiously in the spring morning. And see, see—the herd drew near, the bell-carrier in front, two dogs with them, and last of all the shepherd with his cloak round his shoulder.“Welcome,” cried Tega with all his heart. “But, Toli, you have tarried a long while. I was beginning to wonder——”“What would you, I did not come direct, I had to go round.”The bucks played around, a fine, picked lot withsilky hair, they roamed about, and Tega felt as though he, too, could skip about, could take the shepherd in his arms, and embrace him for sheer joy.As in other years, Tega kept the herd on the neighbouring slopes, on the Aitosh hills. It was Toli’s business to get the bread, salt, and all that was needed, and once every two or three days, leaving the herd in the care of a comrade, he would take his way to his employer’s house. Usually Tega’s wife would be spinning at her wheel when he went in.“Good day!”“Welcome, Toli,” the woman said pleasantly. “Tega is not at home at present, but sit down, Toli, sit down, and wait till he comes.”The shepherd took off his cloak, and did not say another word.The veranda where they were sitting was upstairs; through the open windows the eye could follow the distant view; the hills lay slumbering in the afternoon light, along their foot lay a road—processions of laden mules, whole caravans ascending slowly and laboriously, winding along in bluish lines till lost to sight over the brow of the hill. The woman followed them with her eyes, and without moving, from her wheel, pointing with her hand, she said:“There are sheepfolds yonder, too, aren’t there?”The shepherd nodded his head.“I never asked you, Toli, how are the goatsdoing? Do you think my man chose well this year?”“Well, very well.”That was all. He said no more. His deep-set eyes were sad, and black as the night. A minute later footsteps sounded in the garden, and then the voice of a neighbour:“Where are you, dear, where have you hidden yourself?”“Here, Lena, here,” replied the woman upstairs.Lena mounted the stairs. Behind her came Doda Sili and Mia; they had all brought their work, for they would not go away till late in the evening.“Have you heard?” asked Lena.“What?”“Two more murders.”Suspicion had fallen upon Gardana. He had become a kind of vampire about whom many tales were told. Especially old men, if they could engage you in conversation, would try and impress you with the story.In a village lived a maiden, modest and very beautiful. She was small, of the same age as Gardana, who was a boy then. They were fond of each other, they played together, they kissed each other—they kissed as children kiss. But after a while the girl’s form took on the soft curves of coming womanhood; then it came to pass that theynever kissed each other, they knew not why, and when they were alone they did not venture to look into each other’s eyes; she would blush like a ripe apple, and Gardana’s lips would tremble. Then there appeared upon the scene, from somewhere, a certain Dina, son of a rich somebody; the girl pleased him, and he sent her an offer of marriage. Her father did not think twice, her father gave her to him.And Gardana—would you believe it—after he realized that it was hard fact, gnashed his teeth, beat his breast, and disappeared. Two days later he was on the mountains, and a gang with him.Eh! love knows no bounds, love builds, but love also destroys many homes.The girl’s father was seized and murdered; not long after Dina was murdered too. Then Gardana spread terror for many years in succession.For some time now, whatever he might have been doing, wherever he might be in hiding, nothing had been heard of him. But as soon as something happened, his name once again passed round the village: “Gardana, it is Gardana!”Perhaps it was not he, perhaps he had left the mountains, perhaps even he was dead; but the people who knew something——“How many did you say there were?” asked Mia.“Two; both merchants. They came from abroad.”“And who can have murdered them?”“No one but—Gardana.”“How is it? But is Gardana still alive?”“Come, do you think he really is dead? No, no, they alone give this kind of tidings of themselves.”“And why?”“They have to be on their guard, the bailiffs are after them, they might capture them.”“Perhaps——”The spinning-wheel spun on. The spool wound the thread, the treadle hummed, filling the room with a soothing noise.Doda Sili said wonderingly:“Who knows what kind of man he is?”“Gardana?”“Gardana.”“Not a very big man, but large enough to terrify one, with a black beard—oh, so black!—and, when you least expect it, there he is on your road, just as though he had sprung out of the ground. Didn’t our Toli once meet him!”“How was that?”The spinning-wheel stopped suddenly. A swarm of gnats came in through the windows, and buzzed round in the warmth of the sun; and Lena said quietly:“It was on his way from the sheepfold; he came upon Gardana on the Padea-Murgu.”“Oh, it might have been somebody else.”“It was he, he himself, with that beard, those garments——”And so the conversation continued. Toli, the shepherd, took no part in the talk. He sat over on the floor, silent, impassive—like a moss-grown stone. Only occasionally he raised his bushy eyebrows, and a troubled, misty look shone in his eyes. Tega’s wife wondered to herself, she could not understand him; really, what was the matter with him? He was brave, she knew he had not his equal for courage, when he had charge of the herd not an animal was ever lost; all the same, what a man he was, always frowning, and never a smile on his lips! There must be something with him, naturally it must be—— And breaking off her train of thought she suddenly spoke to him.“Toli, during all the months you have been with us I have never asked you whether you are married?”The question was unexpected. The shepherd seemed to be considering. Then he answered:“No.”“What? You have never married? Have you no wife, no home?”“Home—ah!” he sighed. “You are right, even I once had a home, even I had hopes of a bride, but they came to nought—what would you, it was not written in the book of destiny—I was poor.”He spoke haltingly, and his eyes wandered hereand there. And after one motion of his hand, as though to say “I have much sorrow in my heart,” he added:“That girl is dead—and I, too, shall die, everything will die.”One afternoon in March, as the shepherd did not appear, Mitu Tega prepared to go alone to the fold. He brought out the horse, bought two bags of bread, and a lamb freshly killed, went to the mill where he procured some barley, and then on slowly, quietly—he on foot, the horse in front—till he reached his destination just as the sun was disappearing behind the Aitosh mountains.The shepherds rubbed their eyes when they saw him, but he called out:“I have brought a lamb for roasting.”“You must eat it with us,” said Toli, “and stay the night here.”“No, for they expect me at home.”“Will you start back at this hour?” put in Panu, Toli’s comrade. “The night brings many perils.”It was getting quite dark. Stars twinkled. Whether he wished to or not, Mitu Tega was obliged to remain. Then the shepherds set to work; one put the lamb on to the spit, and lit the fire; the other fetched boughs from the wood. He brought whole branches with which they prepared a shelter for the night for Tega—within was abed of green bracken. Then all three stretched themselves by the fire. Gradually the flames sank a little, on the heap of live coals the lamb began to brown, and spit with fat, and send out an appetizing smell. The moon shone through the bushes; they seemed to move beneath the hard, cold light which flooded the solitude. The shadows of the mountains stretched away indefinitely. Above, some night birds crossed unseen, flapping their wings. Mitu Tega turned his head. For a moment his glance was arrested: by Toli’s side, a gun and a long scimitar lay shining on the ground. He was not nervous, otherwise——He glanced at Toli.“What a man!” thought Tega. “I have nothing to fear while I am with him.”They began to eat, quickly and hungrily, tearing the meat with their fingers, not speaking a word. Toli picked up the shoulder-bone of the lamb, and drew near the fire, to scrutinize it, for some omen for the future.“What’s the matter?” Tega asked.“Nothing—only it seems to me—that there is blood everywhere, that blood pursues. Look, and you, too, Panu.”“There is,” murmured Panu, “a little blood, one can see a spot, two red patches.”The hours passed. The dogs started off towards the woods. From their bark there might be dangerous men on the move. Toli listened a moment, took his gun, and said quickly to Tega:“Have you any weapon about you?”“I have—a pistol.”“Take it out, and go in there, and do not move. But you, Panu, get more over there—not near the fire, move into the shadow.”He had scarcely finished speaking before the brigands were upon them. They came stealthily through the bushes, avoiding the moonlight, but the shepherd saw them, and without waiting fired a chance shot.“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” cried the robbers.A great noise arose—the flock scattered, the barking of the dogs became gradually more and more excited; there was another report, and yet another. Toli’s gun gave a dull sound and was followed by several cries:“You will kill us all like this, all——”“Down with your arms, lay down your arms!” cried Toli.“Look, man, we are putting them down; only don’t shoot.”“Drop them!”Toli’s voice thundered. His voice alone was enough to make one tremble.The brigands threw down their arms, and advanced. There were three of them. One was quite a young man, about thirty-five years of age, with a worn face, and very pale. Blood was flowing from one foot and clotting on to his white gaiters as it flowed. Toli went up to him and said:“I have wounded you—have I wounded you?”The brigand did not reply. Toli crossed his arms and shaking his head asked:“Was it me you meant to rob? Was it me you meant to attack? Do you know who I am?”They looked into each other’s eyes, they stared at each other—deep into each other’s eyes they gazed. Each one was thinking: “Where have I seen him before?” for they had surely known each other somewhere. Vague memories of their past life, of bygone years began to stir, and gradually, recollection dawned.“Gardana,” said the brigand, “is it you?”Mitu Tega was startled. He shivered as though iced water were being poured down his back. Who had uttered that name? Where was Gardana? He was thunder-struck by what followed: Toli and the robbers shook hands, embraced each other and conversed with each other.“Gardana, Gardana, I thought you were dead—they told me you had died, Gardana!”“No, brother,” said Toli. “It might have been better if I had died.”Then after, a short pause:“But you are in pain, brother; I have hurt you—look, you were within an ace of being killed, brother Manole, and I should have had another man’s soul, and another man’s blood upon my head. There, you were nearly killed. What brought you, what drew you within range of my gun? Withinan ace, brother Manole—another man’s soul, another man’s blood——”For the first time for many years he seemed moved with self-pity. He tore a strip from his shirt, bent over Manole, and dressed his wound. The others watched, amazed. The waters were sleeping, the forests were sleeping. From the trees, from the valleys, from the grass, came voices murmuring in the silence of the night, soft, remote, a sort of breath, more like a sigh from the sleeping earth. Manole spoke:“Do you remember, Gardana? We were on the Baitan mountains, you know—at Piatra-de-Furca—we were together when the bailiffs hemmed us in on all sides—a host of them. We held our own till nightfall. Eh! and then I saw what stuff Gardana was made of! You gave us one call and went straight ahead—we after you, and so we escaped, we cut our way through with our scimitars. Then, when the trumpets gave the alarm, and the guns began to go off, I lost sight of you, Gardana; we were all scattered, I remained alone in the valley under Piatra-de-Furca. Do you remember? It must be five years, more—six years ago. Where are all our comrades now?”“Our comrades—they have gone away, I let them go. Brother Manole, heavy curses lie on my head—enough to crush me, brother. I was not a bad man. You know how many times I went to Dina. I said: ‘Don’t drive me too far, bethinkyourself.’ And I went to the girl’s father. But you see Dina was rich, Dina had flocks of sheep. And her father gave her to him without asking whether the girl loved him. And after that, tell me, brother, could I sit patiently by, bite my nails and say nothing? Could I?”Toli Gardana ceased speaking. After a moment of reflection he added softly:“But the girl faded away—she died of grief and disappointment. One day the earth will cover me too, our bodies may rot anywhere, and no one will weep—not a tear, they will all rejoice. I don’t know, brother, but since that girl died it seems to me I am not the man I was. I wanted to kill myself, I roamed about here, and one day I went to Tega. I was strong—I gave out that I came from Blatza, and that I was a shepherd; who was he that he should know differently! But you, brother, how has the world treated you?”“Harshly, Gardana. I was shut up in Tricol for three years. Prison cut me off from life. For months I dug—with hands and nails I dug—until one night, during a storm, I broke through the wall and escaped with these two companions. And when I found myself back among these mountains my thoughts turned to you. I had heard you were dead, Gardana; but see what has happened, and how it has come to pass, how fate brings these things about, brother Gardana ... it is not a month since I escaped....”Before they were aware of it the shadows of the night began to melt away. The brigands ceased to speak as though they feared the signs of the coming day. They remained silent, their heads upon the ground in the face of the glory of the flaming dawn.Toli Gardana asked:“Where are you going now?”“How should we know? No matter where. There are many forests.”

By M. Beza

Mitu Tega returned to the house much annoyed. As he entered his wife asked him:

“Well, has he not turned up yet?”

“No, not to-day either.”

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

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

And as he meditated thus he seemed to see the shepherd before his eyes; he called to mind the first day he had seen him; a terrible man, like a wild man from the woods, with a great moustachelost in a hard, black beard, which left only his eyes and cheek-bones visible. He came into him, and without looking him in the face, said:

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

Tega gave him one look, he was just the kind of man he wanted. He asked him:

“Where do you come from?”

“I come—well, from Blatza. Toli—Toli the shepherd—I have been with many other goat owners.”

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

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

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

A month later they went together to the Salonica district, where they bought goats, over eight hundred head. When it was time to return, Tega—for fear of attack by brigands—went ahead secretly, leaving Toli to follow on alone with the herd. The days slipped by—one week, two—Toli did not put in an appearance. What could have happened? Many ideas passed through Tega’s brain. Especially after what his wife had said. At night he could not sleep. He dozed for a while, and then wokeagain, with his mind on the shepherd, tormenting himself, until the crowing of the cocks heralded the dawn. Then he got up; and, as he was short and plump, he took a staff in his hand, and proceeded to the nearest hill whence could be seen the country opening out as flat as the palm of a hand.

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

“The herd, it is the herd!” murmured Tega.

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

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

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

The bucks played around, a fine, picked lot withsilky hair, they roamed about, and Tega felt as though he, too, could skip about, could take the shepherd in his arms, and embrace him for sheer joy.

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

“Good day!”

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

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

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

“There are sheepfolds yonder, too, aren’t there?”

The shepherd nodded his head.

“I never asked you, Toli, how are the goatsdoing? Do you think my man chose well this year?”

“Well, very well.”

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

“Where are you, dear, where have you hidden yourself?”

“Here, Lena, here,” replied the woman upstairs.

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

“Have you heard?” asked Lena.

“What?”

“Two more murders.”

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

In a village lived a maiden, modest and very beautiful. She was small, of the same age as Gardana, who was a boy then. They were fond of each other, they played together, they kissed each other—they kissed as children kiss. But after a while the girl’s form took on the soft curves of coming womanhood; then it came to pass that theynever kissed each other, they knew not why, and when they were alone they did not venture to look into each other’s eyes; she would blush like a ripe apple, and Gardana’s lips would tremble. Then there appeared upon the scene, from somewhere, a certain Dina, son of a rich somebody; the girl pleased him, and he sent her an offer of marriage. Her father did not think twice, her father gave her to him.

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

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

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

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

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

“How many did you say there were?” asked Mia.

“Two; both merchants. They came from abroad.”

“And who can have murdered them?”

“No one but—Gardana.”

“How is it? But is Gardana still alive?”

“Come, do you think he really is dead? No, no, they alone give this kind of tidings of themselves.”

“And why?”

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

“Perhaps——”

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

Doda Sili said wonderingly:

“Who knows what kind of man he is?”

“Gardana?”

“Gardana.”

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

“How was that?”

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

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

“Oh, it might have been somebody else.”

“It was he, he himself, with that beard, those garments——”

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

“Toli, during all the months you have been with us I have never asked you whether you are married?”

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

“No.”

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

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

He spoke haltingly, and his eyes wandered hereand there. And after one motion of his hand, as though to say “I have much sorrow in my heart,” he added:

“That girl is dead—and I, too, shall die, everything will die.”

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

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

“I have brought a lamb for roasting.”

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

“No, for they expect me at home.”

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

It was getting quite dark. Stars twinkled. Whether he wished to or not, Mitu Tega was obliged to remain. Then the shepherds set to work; one put the lamb on to the spit, and lit the fire; the other fetched boughs from the wood. He brought whole branches with which they prepared a shelter for the night for Tega—within was abed of green bracken. Then all three stretched themselves by the fire. Gradually the flames sank a little, on the heap of live coals the lamb began to brown, and spit with fat, and send out an appetizing smell. The moon shone through the bushes; they seemed to move beneath the hard, cold light which flooded the solitude. The shadows of the mountains stretched away indefinitely. Above, some night birds crossed unseen, flapping their wings. Mitu Tega turned his head. For a moment his glance was arrested: by Toli’s side, a gun and a long scimitar lay shining on the ground. He was not nervous, otherwise——He glanced at Toli.

“What a man!” thought Tega. “I have nothing to fear while I am with him.”

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

“What’s the matter?” Tega asked.

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

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

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

“Have you any weapon about you?”

“I have—a pistol.”

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

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

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” cried the robbers.

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

“You will kill us all like this, all——”

“Down with your arms, lay down your arms!” cried Toli.

“Look, man, we are putting them down; only don’t shoot.”

“Drop them!”

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

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

“I have wounded you—have I wounded you?”

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

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

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

“Gardana,” said the brigand, “is it you?”

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

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

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

Then after, a short pause:

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

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

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

“Our comrades—they have gone away, I let them go. Brother Manole, heavy curses lie on my head—enough to crush me, brother. I was not a bad man. You know how many times I went to Dina. I said: ‘Don’t drive me too far, bethinkyourself.’ And I went to the girl’s father. But you see Dina was rich, Dina had flocks of sheep. And her father gave her to him without asking whether the girl loved him. And after that, tell me, brother, could I sit patiently by, bite my nails and say nothing? Could I?”

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

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

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

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

Toli Gardana asked:

“Where are you going now?”

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

The Dead PoolBy M. BezaWe seemed to be between Mount Gramos and Mount Deniscu. I guessed it to be so from the peaks, which showed like some fancies of the night, keeping steadfast watch in the moonlight; the moon we could not see, we could only feel her floating over us. The pale light shone only in the ether above, and gradually diminished till it was lost to the eyes in a mass of shadows; they fell like curtains, enveloping us, dense, black. The silence extended indefinitely; it was as though the world here had remained unchanged since its creation. Hardly a breath of wind reached us. It always carried with it at this spot the same odour of dank weeds, of plants with poisonous juices; everything told of the neighbourhood of water—not fresh water, but water asleep for centuries.“Can you see the pool?” questioned my companion, Ghicu Sina; and then he added: “It is hidden, certainly, but look with attention.”I looked, and after a time, getting accustomed to the darkness, I, too, got the impression of something shining and smooth.“The pool——”“Only the pool? Some lights too?”“That is so,” I whispered with a shudder.There on the surface of the water were flickering points of fire. They could not come from above, they were not glow-worms, or sparks such as one sees passing over graves.Ghicu Sina spoke:“They are reflections, the lights are burning in the pool.”With the fear that seizes us in the presence of the supernatural, I asked:“What induced us to stay here?”“Where else could we stop? There are no sheep-folds in these parts, formerly there were such, but since the death of the Spirit who guarded the mountains, none of them remain.”After a pause he said slowly:“You have heard of dead pools?” He stood immersed in thought. “This is a dead pool. I will tell you about it.“Once upon a time, when the trees were bursting into leaf, this district was full of sheep. Flock after flock passed through, handled by sturdy shepherds, well known in their own neighbourhood. Then one spring-tide a stranger showed his face,beautiful as a god, wearing upon his shoulders a cloak as white as snow. Every one wondered, ‘Who may he be, and whence does he come?’ Many tales passed round until the mystery began to unravel itself. In the valley of the Tempe, so runs the story, whither he had wandered with the sheep, he fell in love with the beautiful Virghea. Mad with love, when the family made the winter-move, he followed her to the mountains; he came with a comrade and wandered about till he settled his sheep-fold here, in these parts.“Ah! where had the fame of this Virghea of Gramuste not reached! All the beauties of nature seemed to have bestowed some gift upon her: the blue of heaven—the colour of her eyes; the shadow of the woods—the mystery of their liquid depths; the setting sun—the gold of her soft hair; the springs—the tone of her silvery laugh. Attracted by such charms every youth fell at the feet of Virghea. But she did not care; only when her eyes rested on the shepherd did her youthful being fill with a burning desire.“Now day after day from the high ground about the sheep-fold could be heard the sound of a flute; heard in the stillness of the dusk it roused strange longings in the girl’s breast. Then she would steal out of the house, and the shepherd himself would come down towards Gramuste.“About this time, there broke loose such a storm as had never been seen before. The peaks beganto rattle as though the mountains were changing places, striking each other with noise like thunder. Thus it continued for three days. Only on the fourth day, late in the evening, could the shepherd leave the fold: he had taken only a few steps when—what a sight met his eyes by the side of the pool! A big fire, and round it a shadowy form. And suddenly the phantom spoke with hand pointing to the spit which he held above the heap of burning coals: ‘The heart of the Spirit of Deniscu.’“In a flash the shepherd realized the meaning of the hurricane of the last few days. The guardian Spirits of the mountains had striven together, and one had been overthrown. The shadow continued to speak: ‘Turn this spit that I may rest a while. Taste not of the heart, for if you touch it you will immediately die.’“The shadow fell into a profound slumber.“By the side of the fire the shepherd looked fearfully on all sides. Far off, in the pale blue sky, a star broke away; it fell with a long tail of fire, and went out. ‘Some one will die,’ sighed the shepherd. The words of the Spirit flashed through his mind. ‘H’m!’ he said. ‘If I taste, perhaps the contrary is true, who knows?’ So thinking, he put his finger on the heart on the spit and carried it to his mouth. The sensation was unspeakably pleasant. He laughed; then quickly ate the whole heart. Immediately there rose within him a cruelpassion towards the sleeping Spirit; upon the spot he killed it and took the heart. At once there came to him the strength of a giant, the ground began to tremble beneath his footsteps, while aerial voices, and voices from the water, sounded round him. Creatures never seen before emerged from the pool; linked together by their white hands they danced round in whirling circles. Thus changed, he reached his comrade at the fold, and tried to explain, but his thoughts were elsewhere, and his voice sounded as though from another world. He finished with broken words: ‘The water calls me—tell no one what has happened to me—take my flute: if danger threatens come to the pool and sing to me.’“During the evenings that followed Virghea saw naught of the shepherd, and she wondered at not seeing him, expecting him from day to day. So days passed that seemed like weeks, and weeks seemed months, and they went by without any news of him till the poor maiden took to her bed from grief. Then the comrade of the hills remembered the shepherd’s words. He came at midnight to the side of the pool and sang—a long time he sang. Towards dawn, when the strains of the flute died away, there came from Gramuste the sound of two strokes of a bell, then another two, and others in succession, mournful, prolonged. The echoes answered back, as though other bells were ringing in other places, resounding from hill to hill untilthey reached the bottom of the pool, and after a time, to the voice of the bells were joined real words, sobbing to the rhythm: ‘Virghea is dead—is dead!’”Ghicu Sina paused a while. Although he had only told me these things quite briefly, I felt their secret had entered my soul; with my eyes upon the pool where the strange reflections constantly played, I seemed to hear, as one sometimes hears the faint voice of memory from a remote past, the sound of the bells and their metallic words: “Virghea is dead—is dead!”And then, the story adds, he rose from the pool. Like the wind, he raised her in his arms and carried her deep down to his translucent palace where, to this day, little fiery points of light burn round the head of the dead woman.

The Dead Pool

By M. BezaWe seemed to be between Mount Gramos and Mount Deniscu. I guessed it to be so from the peaks, which showed like some fancies of the night, keeping steadfast watch in the moonlight; the moon we could not see, we could only feel her floating over us. The pale light shone only in the ether above, and gradually diminished till it was lost to the eyes in a mass of shadows; they fell like curtains, enveloping us, dense, black. The silence extended indefinitely; it was as though the world here had remained unchanged since its creation. Hardly a breath of wind reached us. It always carried with it at this spot the same odour of dank weeds, of plants with poisonous juices; everything told of the neighbourhood of water—not fresh water, but water asleep for centuries.“Can you see the pool?” questioned my companion, Ghicu Sina; and then he added: “It is hidden, certainly, but look with attention.”I looked, and after a time, getting accustomed to the darkness, I, too, got the impression of something shining and smooth.“The pool——”“Only the pool? Some lights too?”“That is so,” I whispered with a shudder.There on the surface of the water were flickering points of fire. They could not come from above, they were not glow-worms, or sparks such as one sees passing over graves.Ghicu Sina spoke:“They are reflections, the lights are burning in the pool.”With the fear that seizes us in the presence of the supernatural, I asked:“What induced us to stay here?”“Where else could we stop? There are no sheep-folds in these parts, formerly there were such, but since the death of the Spirit who guarded the mountains, none of them remain.”After a pause he said slowly:“You have heard of dead pools?” He stood immersed in thought. “This is a dead pool. I will tell you about it.“Once upon a time, when the trees were bursting into leaf, this district was full of sheep. Flock after flock passed through, handled by sturdy shepherds, well known in their own neighbourhood. Then one spring-tide a stranger showed his face,beautiful as a god, wearing upon his shoulders a cloak as white as snow. Every one wondered, ‘Who may he be, and whence does he come?’ Many tales passed round until the mystery began to unravel itself. In the valley of the Tempe, so runs the story, whither he had wandered with the sheep, he fell in love with the beautiful Virghea. Mad with love, when the family made the winter-move, he followed her to the mountains; he came with a comrade and wandered about till he settled his sheep-fold here, in these parts.“Ah! where had the fame of this Virghea of Gramuste not reached! All the beauties of nature seemed to have bestowed some gift upon her: the blue of heaven—the colour of her eyes; the shadow of the woods—the mystery of their liquid depths; the setting sun—the gold of her soft hair; the springs—the tone of her silvery laugh. Attracted by such charms every youth fell at the feet of Virghea. But she did not care; only when her eyes rested on the shepherd did her youthful being fill with a burning desire.“Now day after day from the high ground about the sheep-fold could be heard the sound of a flute; heard in the stillness of the dusk it roused strange longings in the girl’s breast. Then she would steal out of the house, and the shepherd himself would come down towards Gramuste.“About this time, there broke loose such a storm as had never been seen before. The peaks beganto rattle as though the mountains were changing places, striking each other with noise like thunder. Thus it continued for three days. Only on the fourth day, late in the evening, could the shepherd leave the fold: he had taken only a few steps when—what a sight met his eyes by the side of the pool! A big fire, and round it a shadowy form. And suddenly the phantom spoke with hand pointing to the spit which he held above the heap of burning coals: ‘The heart of the Spirit of Deniscu.’“In a flash the shepherd realized the meaning of the hurricane of the last few days. The guardian Spirits of the mountains had striven together, and one had been overthrown. The shadow continued to speak: ‘Turn this spit that I may rest a while. Taste not of the heart, for if you touch it you will immediately die.’“The shadow fell into a profound slumber.“By the side of the fire the shepherd looked fearfully on all sides. Far off, in the pale blue sky, a star broke away; it fell with a long tail of fire, and went out. ‘Some one will die,’ sighed the shepherd. The words of the Spirit flashed through his mind. ‘H’m!’ he said. ‘If I taste, perhaps the contrary is true, who knows?’ So thinking, he put his finger on the heart on the spit and carried it to his mouth. The sensation was unspeakably pleasant. He laughed; then quickly ate the whole heart. Immediately there rose within him a cruelpassion towards the sleeping Spirit; upon the spot he killed it and took the heart. At once there came to him the strength of a giant, the ground began to tremble beneath his footsteps, while aerial voices, and voices from the water, sounded round him. Creatures never seen before emerged from the pool; linked together by their white hands they danced round in whirling circles. Thus changed, he reached his comrade at the fold, and tried to explain, but his thoughts were elsewhere, and his voice sounded as though from another world. He finished with broken words: ‘The water calls me—tell no one what has happened to me—take my flute: if danger threatens come to the pool and sing to me.’“During the evenings that followed Virghea saw naught of the shepherd, and she wondered at not seeing him, expecting him from day to day. So days passed that seemed like weeks, and weeks seemed months, and they went by without any news of him till the poor maiden took to her bed from grief. Then the comrade of the hills remembered the shepherd’s words. He came at midnight to the side of the pool and sang—a long time he sang. Towards dawn, when the strains of the flute died away, there came from Gramuste the sound of two strokes of a bell, then another two, and others in succession, mournful, prolonged. The echoes answered back, as though other bells were ringing in other places, resounding from hill to hill untilthey reached the bottom of the pool, and after a time, to the voice of the bells were joined real words, sobbing to the rhythm: ‘Virghea is dead—is dead!’”Ghicu Sina paused a while. Although he had only told me these things quite briefly, I felt their secret had entered my soul; with my eyes upon the pool where the strange reflections constantly played, I seemed to hear, as one sometimes hears the faint voice of memory from a remote past, the sound of the bells and their metallic words: “Virghea is dead—is dead!”And then, the story adds, he rose from the pool. Like the wind, he raised her in his arms and carried her deep down to his translucent palace where, to this day, little fiery points of light burn round the head of the dead woman.

By M. Beza

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

“Can you see the pool?” questioned my companion, Ghicu Sina; and then he added: “It is hidden, certainly, but look with attention.”

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

“The pool——”

“Only the pool? Some lights too?”

“That is so,” I whispered with a shudder.

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

Ghicu Sina spoke:

“They are reflections, the lights are burning in the pool.”

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

“What induced us to stay here?”

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

After a pause he said slowly:

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

“Once upon a time, when the trees were bursting into leaf, this district was full of sheep. Flock after flock passed through, handled by sturdy shepherds, well known in their own neighbourhood. Then one spring-tide a stranger showed his face,beautiful as a god, wearing upon his shoulders a cloak as white as snow. Every one wondered, ‘Who may he be, and whence does he come?’ Many tales passed round until the mystery began to unravel itself. In the valley of the Tempe, so runs the story, whither he had wandered with the sheep, he fell in love with the beautiful Virghea. Mad with love, when the family made the winter-move, he followed her to the mountains; he came with a comrade and wandered about till he settled his sheep-fold here, in these parts.

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

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

“About this time, there broke loose such a storm as had never been seen before. The peaks beganto rattle as though the mountains were changing places, striking each other with noise like thunder. Thus it continued for three days. Only on the fourth day, late in the evening, could the shepherd leave the fold: he had taken only a few steps when—what a sight met his eyes by the side of the pool! A big fire, and round it a shadowy form. And suddenly the phantom spoke with hand pointing to the spit which he held above the heap of burning coals: ‘The heart of the Spirit of Deniscu.’

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

“The shadow fell into a profound slumber.

“By the side of the fire the shepherd looked fearfully on all sides. Far off, in the pale blue sky, a star broke away; it fell with a long tail of fire, and went out. ‘Some one will die,’ sighed the shepherd. The words of the Spirit flashed through his mind. ‘H’m!’ he said. ‘If I taste, perhaps the contrary is true, who knows?’ So thinking, he put his finger on the heart on the spit and carried it to his mouth. The sensation was unspeakably pleasant. He laughed; then quickly ate the whole heart. Immediately there rose within him a cruelpassion towards the sleeping Spirit; upon the spot he killed it and took the heart. At once there came to him the strength of a giant, the ground began to tremble beneath his footsteps, while aerial voices, and voices from the water, sounded round him. Creatures never seen before emerged from the pool; linked together by their white hands they danced round in whirling circles. Thus changed, he reached his comrade at the fold, and tried to explain, but his thoughts were elsewhere, and his voice sounded as though from another world. He finished with broken words: ‘The water calls me—tell no one what has happened to me—take my flute: if danger threatens come to the pool and sing to me.’

“During the evenings that followed Virghea saw naught of the shepherd, and she wondered at not seeing him, expecting him from day to day. So days passed that seemed like weeks, and weeks seemed months, and they went by without any news of him till the poor maiden took to her bed from grief. Then the comrade of the hills remembered the shepherd’s words. He came at midnight to the side of the pool and sang—a long time he sang. Towards dawn, when the strains of the flute died away, there came from Gramuste the sound of two strokes of a bell, then another two, and others in succession, mournful, prolonged. The echoes answered back, as though other bells were ringing in other places, resounding from hill to hill untilthey reached the bottom of the pool, and after a time, to the voice of the bells were joined real words, sobbing to the rhythm: ‘Virghea is dead—is dead!’”

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

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

Old Nichifor, the ImpostorBy I. CreangaOld Nichifor is not a character out of a story-book but a real man like other men; he was once, when he was alive, an inhabitant of the Tzutzuen quarter of the town of Neamtzu, towards the village of Neamtzu Vinatori.When old Nichifor lived in Tzutzuen my grandfather’s grandfather was piper at the christening feast at the house of Mosh Dedui from Vinatori, the great Ciubar-Voda being godfather, to whom Mosh Dedui gave forty-nine brown lambs with only one eye each; and the priest, uncle of my mother’s uncle, was Ciubuc the Bell-ringer from the Neamtzu Monastery, who put up a big bell at this same monastery at his own expense, and had a fancy to ring it all by himself on big feast days, on which account he was called the bell-ringer. About this time old Nichifor lived at Tzutzuen.Old Nichifor was a cab-driver. Although his carriage was only fastened together with thongsof lime and bark, it was still a good carriage, roomy and comfortable. A hood of matting prevented the sun and rain from beating down into old Nichifor’s carriage. In the well of the carriage hung a grease box with a greasing stick and some screws which banged against each other ding! dong! ding! dong! whenever the carriage moved. On a hook below the boot—on the left—was suspended a little axe to be ready for any emergency.Two mares, white as snow and swift as flame, nearly always supported the pole of the carriage; nearly always but not quite always; old Nichifor was a horse-dealer, and when he got the chance he would either exchange or sell a mare in the middle of a journey, and in that case the pole would be bare on the one side. The old man liked to have young, well-bred mares; it was a weakness with him. Perhaps you will ask me why mares and always white ones, and I will tell you this: mares, because old Nichifor liked to breed from them, white, because the whiteness of the mares, he said, served him as a lantern on the road at nights.Old Nichifor was not among those who do not know that “It is not good to be coachman behind white horses or the slave of women;” he knew this, but the mares were his own, and when he took care of them they were taken care of and when he did not—well, there was no one to reproach him. Old Nichifor avoided carrier’s work; he refused to do any lifting for fear of giving himself a rupture.“Cab driving,” he said, “is much better; one has to deal with live goods who go up hill on foot, and down hill on foot, and only stay in the carriage when it halts.”Old Nichifor had a whip of hemp twig, plaited by his own hand, with a silk lash, which he cracked loud enough to deafen you. And whether he had a full load or was empty, old Nichifor always walked up the hills and usually pulled together with the mares. Down the hills he walked to avoid laming the mares.The passengers, willing or unwilling, had to do the same, for they had enough of old Nichifor’s tongue, who once rounded on one of them like this: “Can’t you get out and walk; the horse is not like a blockhead that talks.” If you only knew how to appreciate everything that fell from old Nichifor’s mouth, he was very witty. If he met a rider on the road, he would ask: “Left the Prince far behind, warrior?” and then, all at once, he would whip up the mares, saying:“White for the leader, white for the wheeler,The pole lies bare on the one side.Heigh! It’s not far to Galatz. Heigh!”But if he met women and young girls then he sang a knowing song, rather like this:“When I took my old wifeEight lovers did sigh:Three women already wed,And five girls, in one village.”They say, moreover, that one could not take the road, especially in the month of May, with a pleasanter or gayer man. Only sometimes, when you pretended not to see you were passing the door of a public house, because you did not feel inclined to soften old Nichifor’s throat, did you find him in a bad mood, but even on these occasions he would drive rapidly from one inn to the other. On one occasion, especially, old Nichifor coveted two mares which were marvels on the road, but at the inns, whether he wanted to or no, they used to halt, for he had bought them from a priest.My father said that some old men, who had heard it from old Nichifor’s own lips, had told him that at that time it was a good business being a cab-driver in Neamtzu town. You drove from Varatic to Agapia, from Agapia to Varatic, then to Razboeni; there were many customers, too, at the church hostels. Sometimes you had to take them to Peatra, sometimes to Folticeni, sometimes to the fair, sometimes to Neamtzu Monastery, sometimes all about the place to the different festivals.My father also said he had heard from my grandfather’s grandfather that the then prior of Neamtzu is reported to have said to some nuns who were wandering through the town during Holy Week:“Nuns!”“Your blessing, reverend Father!”“Why do you not stay in the convent and meditate during Passion Week?”“Because, reverend Father,” they are said to have replied with humility, “this wool worries us, but for that we should not come. Your Reverence knows we keep ourselves by selling serge, and though we do not collect a great deal, still those who go about get something to live on....”Then, they say, the prior gave a sigh, and he laid all the blame on old Nichifor, saying:“I would the driver who brought you here might die, for then he could not bring you so often to the town.”They say old Nichifor was greatly troubled in his mind when he heard this, and that he swore an oath that as long as he lived he would never again have dealings with the clergy, for, unfortunately, old Nichifor was pious and was much afraid of falling under the ban of the priests. He quickly went to the little monastery at Vovidenia to Chiviac, the anchorite of St. Agura, who dyed his hair and beard with black cherries, and on dry Friday he very devoutly baked an egg at a candle that he might be absolved from his sins. And after this he decided that from henceforth he would have more to do with the commercial side.“The merchant,” said old Nichifor, “lives by his business and for himself.”When he was asked why, old Nichifor answered jokingly:“Because he has not got God for his master.”Old Nichifor was a wag among wags, there was no doubt of it, but owing to all he had to put up with he became a bit disagreeable.I don’t know what was the matter with her, but for some time past, his old wife had begun to grumble; now this hurt her; now that hurt her; now she had the ear-ache; now some one had cast a spell over her; now she was in tears. She went from one old witch to the other to get spells and ointments. As for old Nichifor, this did not suit him and he was not at all at his ease; if he stayed two or three days at home there was such bickering and quarrelling and ill will that his poor old wife rejoiced to see him leave the house.It’s plain old Nichifor was made for the road, and that when he was off it he was a different man; let him be able to crack his whip and he was ready to chaff all the travellers he met and tell anecdotes about all the chief places he passed through.Early one day—it was the Wednesday before Whit-Sunday—old Nichifor had taken a wheel off the carriage, and was greasing it when suddenly Master Shtrul of Neamtzu town came up behind him; he was a grocer; a dealer in ointments; he took in washing; he traded in cosmetics, hair-dyes, toilet accessories, blue stone, rouge or some good pomade for the face, palm branches, smelling salts and other poisons.At that time there was no apothecary in Neamtzu town and Master Shtrul to please the monks and nuns brought them all they wanted. Of course he did other business too. To conclude, I hardly know how to tell you, he was more important than the confessor, for without him the monasteries could not have existed.“Good morning, Mosh Nichifor!”“Good luck to you, Master Shtrul. What business brings you to us?”“My daughter-in-law wants to go to Peatra. How much will you charge to take her there?”“Probably she will have a great many packages like you do, sir,” said old Nichifor, scratching his head. “That doesn’t matter; she can have them. My carriage is large; it can hold a good deal. But without bargaining, Master Shtrul, you give me sixteen shillings and a gold irmal and I’ll take her there quite easily; for you’ll see, now I’ve attended to it and put some of this excellent grease into it, the carriage will run like a spinning-wheel.”“You must be satisfied with nine shillings, Mosh Nichifor, and my son will give you a tip when you get to Peatra.”“All right, then; may God be with us, Master Shtrul. I am glad the fair is in full swing just now; perhaps I shall get a customer for the return journey. Now I would like to know when we have to start?”“Now, at once, Mosh Nichifor, if you are ready.”“I am ready, Master Shtrul; I have only to water the mares. Go and get your daughter-in-law ready.”Old Nichifor was energetic and quick at his work and he rapidly threw some fodder into the carriage, spread out a couple of leather cushions, put to the mares, flung his sheepskin cloak round his shoulders, took his whip in his hand and was up and away. Master Shtrul had scarcely reached home when old Nichifor drew up his carriage at the door. Malca—that was the name of Master Shtrul’s daughter-in-law—came out to take a look at the driver.This is Malca’s story: it appeared that Peatra was her native place; she was very red in the face, because she had been crying at parting with her parents-in-law. It was the first time she had been in Neamtzu; it was her wedding visit as they say with us. It was not much more than two weeks since she had married Itzic, Master Shtrul’s son, or, it would be better to say, in all good fellowship, that Itzic had married Malca. He had quitted his parents’ house according to the custom, and in two weeks’ time Itzic had brought Malca to Neamtzu and placed her in his parents’ hands and had returned quickly to Peatra to look after his business.“You have kept your promise, Mosh Nichifor?”“Certainly, Master Shtrul; my word is my word. I don’t trouble myself much. As for thejourney, it’s as well to set out early and to halt in good time in the evening.”“Will you be able to reach Peatra by the evening, Mosh Nichifor.”“Eh! Do you know what you’re talking about, Master Shtrul? I expect, so help me God, to get your daughter-in-law to Peatra this afternoon.”“You are very experienced, Mosh Nichifor; you know better than I do. All I beg of you is that you will be very careful to let no harm befall my daughter-in-law.”“I did not start driving the day before yesterday, Master Shtrul. I have already driven dames and nuns and noble ladies and other honest girls, and, praise be to God, none have ever complained of me. Only with the nun Evlampia, begging sister from Varatic, did I have a little dispute. Wherever she went it was her custom to tie a cow to the back of the carriage, for economy’s sake, that she might have milk on the journey; this caused me great annoyance. The cow, just like a cow, pulled the forage out of my carriage, once it broke the rack, going uphill it pulled back, and once it nearly strangled my mares. And I, unhappy man that I am, was bold enough to say, ‘Little nun, isn’t it being a penny wise and a pound foolish?’ Then she looked sadly at me, and in a gentle voice said to me, ‘Do not speak so, Mosh Nichifor, do not speak thus of the poor little cow, for she, poor thing, is notguilty of anything. The anchorite fathers of St. Agura have ordained that I should drink milk from a cow only, so that I may not get old quickly; so what is to be done? I must listen to them, for these holy men know a great deal better than do we poor sinners.’“When I heard this, I said to myself, that perhaps the begging Sister had some reason on her side, and I left her to her fate, for I saw that she was funny and at all events was determined to drink only from one well. But, Master Shtrul, I do not think you are going to annoy me with cows too. And, then, Mistress Malca, where it is very steep, uphill or down, will always get out and walk a little way. It is so beautiful out in the country then. But there, we mustn’t waste our time talking. Come, jump in, Mistress Malca, that I may take you home to your husband; I know how sad it is for these young wives when they have not got their husbands with them; they long for home as the horse longs for his nose-bag.”“I am ready to come, Mosh Nichifor.”And she began at once to pick up the feather mattress, the soft pillows, a bundle containing food, and other commodities. Then Malca took leave of her parents-in-law, and got on to the feather mattresses in the bottom of the carriage. Old Nichifor jumped on to the box, whipped up the mares, and left Master Shtrul and his wife behind in tears. Old Nichifor drove at a great pacethrough the town, the mares seemed to be almost flying. They passed the beach, the villages, and the hill at Humuleshti in a second. From Ocea nearly to Grumazeshti they went at the gallop.But the other side of Grumazeshti old Nichifor took a pull from the brandy flask which had come from Brashov, lit his pipe, and began to let the mares go their own pace.“Look, Mistress Malca, do you see that fine, large village? It is called Grumazeshti. Were I to have as many bulls and you as many sons as Cossacks, barbarians and other low people have dropped dead there from time to time, it would be well for us!”“God grant I may have sons, Mosh Nichifor.”“And may I have bulls, young lady—I have no hope of having sons; my wife is an unfruitful vine; she has not been busy enough to give me even one; may she die before long! When I am dead there’ll be nothing left but this battered old carriage and these good-for-nothing mares!”“Don’t distress yourself, Mosh Nichifor,” said Malca, “maybe God has willed it so; because it is written in our books, concerning some people, that only in their old age did they beget sons.”“Don’t bother me, Mistress Malca, with your books. I know what I know; it’s all in vain, we never can choose. I have heard it said in our church that ‘a tree that bears no fruit should be hewn down and cast into the fire.’ Can one haveanything clearer than that? Really, I wonder how I can have had patience to keep house with my old woman so long. In this respect you are a thousand times better off. If he does not give you a child you’ll get some one else. If that does not do—why then another; and in due time will come a little blessing from the Almighty. It’s not like that with us who see ourselves condemned to live with one barren stock to the end of our life with no prospect of children. After all the great and powerful Lord was not crucified for only one person in this world. Isn’t it so, young lady? If you have anything more to say, say it!”“It may be so, Mosh Nichifor.”“Dear young lady, it is as I tell you.Houp là!We have gone a good part of the way. Lord, how a man forgets the road when he’s talking, and when one wakes up who knows where one has got to. It’s a good thing the Holy God has given one companionship! Hi! daughters of a dragon, get on! Here is the Grumazeshti Forest, the anxiety of merchants and the terror of the boyars. Hei, Mistress Malca, if this forest had a mouth to tell what it has seen, our ears could not hear more terrible adventures: I know we should hear some things!”“But what has happened here, Mosh Nichifor?”“Oh, young lady, oh! God grant that what has been may never be again! One used to have some trouble to pass through here without beingrobbed, thrashed or murdered. Of course this happened more often by night than by day. As for me, up to now, I have never spoken in an unlucky hour, God preserve me! Wolves and other wild beasts have come out in front of me at different times, but I didn’t hurt them; I left them alone, I pretended not to see anything, and they went about their own business.”“Ah, Mosh Nichifor, don’t talk about wolves any more, for they terrify me.”I have told you how amusing old Nichifor was; sometimes he would say something that made you hold your sides with laughing, at other times he would bring your heart into your mouth with fear.“There is a wolf coming towards us, Mistress Malca!”“Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, where can I hide?”“Hide where you are, for I can tell you one thing, I am not afraid of the whole pack.”Then poor Malca, terrified, clung round old Nichifor’s neck, and stuck to him like a leech, and as she sat there she said, trembling:“Where is the wolf, Mosh Nichifor?”“Where is it? It crossed the road just in front of us, and went into the wood again. But if you had strangled me, young lady, and then the mares had bolted, it would have been a fine look out.”He had scarcely ceased speaking when Malca said softly:“Never tell me again that a wolf is coming, Mosh Nichifor, I shall die from fright.”“It is not that I say so; there is one just coming; there you have one!”“Alas! What are you saying?”And again she hid close to old Nichifor.“What is young is young. You want to play, young lady, isn’t that it? It seems to me you’re lucky, for I keep my self-control. I am not very afraid of the wolf, but if some one else had been in my place——”“No more wolves will come, Mosh Nichifor, will they?”“Oho! you are too funny, young lady, you want them to come too often. You mustn’t expect to see a wolf at every tree. On St. Andrew’s Day many of them prowl together in the same place and the huntsmen are on the watch. During the great hunt, do you think it’s only a few wolves that are put to shame by having to leave their skins as hostages? Now we will let the mares get their wind. Look, this is ‘Dragon Hill.’ Once an enormous dragon alighted here, which spouted flames out of his mouth, and when it whistled the forest roared, the valleys groaned, the wild beasts trembled and beat their heads together with fear, and no one dared pass by here.”“Alas! And where is the dragon, Mosh Nichifor?”“How should I know, young lady? Theforest is large, it knows where it has hidden itself. Some say that after it had eaten a great many people and peeled the bark off all the oaks in the wood it expired at this spot. By others I have heard it said that it made a black cow give it milk, and this enabled it to rise again into the skies whence it had fallen. But how do I know whom to believe? People will say anything! Luckily I understand witchcraft, and I am not at all afraid of dragons. I can take serpents out of their nest as easily as you can take a flea out of your poultry-house.”“Where did you learn these spells, Mosh Nichifor?”“Eh? My dear young lady, that I may not tell. My old woman—she was just on twenty-four when I fell in love with her—what hasn’t she done! How she has worried me to tell her, and I wouldn’t tell her. And that’s why she’ll die when she does die, but why hasn’t she died long before, for then I could have got a younger woman. For three days I can live in peace with her, and then it’s enough to kill one! I am sick to death of the old hag. Every minute she worries and reproaches me by her manner. When I think that when I return I have got to go back to her, I feel wild—just inclined to run away—nothing more nor less.”“Stop, stop, Mosh Nichifor, you men are like that.”“Eh! Mistress Malca, here we are near the top of the wood. Won’t you walk a little while we goup the hill? I only say it because I am afraid you will get stiff sitting in the carriage. Look at the lovely flowers along the edge of the wood, they fill the air with sweetness. It is really a pity for you to sit huddled up there.”“I am afraid of the wolf, Mosh Nichifor,” said Malca, shaking.“Let’s have done with that wolf. Have you nothing else to talk about?”“Stand still that I may get down.”“Wo! Step gently here on to the step of the carriage. Ah, now I see for myself that you are sturdy; that’s how I like people to be, born not laid.”While Malca gathered some balm to take to Itzic, old Nichifor stood still and tinkered a little at the carriage. Then he called quickly:“Are you ready, young lady? Come, get in and let us get on with the help of God; from here on it is mostly down hill.”After Malca has mounted she asked:“Are we a little late, Mosh Nichifor?”“If we meet with no obstacles I shall soon have you in Peatra.”And he whipped up the mares, saying:“White for the leader, white for the wheelerThe pole lies bare on the one side.Heigh! It’s not far to Galatz. Heigh!”He had scarcely gone twenty yards when—bang! An axle-pin broke.“Well, here’s a to-do!”“Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, we shall be benighted in the wood.”“Don’t take it amiss, Mistress Malca. Come, it’s only happened to me once in my life. While you eat a little something, and the mares put away a bit of fodder, I shall have replaced the axle-pin.”When old Nichifor came to look at the hook, the little axe had disappeared!“Well, what has been had to be,” said old Nichifor, knitting his eyebrows, and getting angry as he thought of it. “If God punishes the old woman, may he punish her! See how she takes care of me; there is no axe here.”When poor Malca heard this she began to sigh and to say:“Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?”“Now, young lady, don’t lose heart, for I have still a ray of hope.”He drew his pocket-knife out of its sheath, he went to the side of the carriage, and began to cut away at a young oak of the previous year. He cut it as best he could, then he began to rummage about in a box in the carriage to find some rope; but how could he find it if it had not been put in? After looking and looking in vain, he cut the cord from the nose-bag, and a strap from the bridle of one of the mares to tie the sapling where it was wanted, put the wheel in position, slipped in the bit of wood which ran from the head of the axle tothe staff-side of the carriage, twisted round the chain which connected the head of the axle with the shaft, and tied it to the step; then he lit his pipe and said:“Look, my dear young lady, how necessity teaches a man what to do. With old Nichifor of Tzutzuen no one comes to grief on the road. But from now on sit tight in the bottom of thecarriage, and hold fast to the back of your seat, for I must take these mares in hand and make them gallop. Yes, I warrant you, my old woman won’t have an easy time when I get home. I’ll play the devil with her and teach her how to treat her husband another time, for ‘a woman who has not been beaten is like a broken mill.’ Hold tight, Mistress Malca!Houp-là!”And at once the mares began to gallop, the wheels to go round, and the dust to whirl up into the sky. But in a few yards the sapling began to get hot and brittle and—off came the wheel again!“Ah! Everything is contrary! It’s evident I crossed a priest early this morning or the devil knows what.”“Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?”“We shall do what we shall do, young lady. But now stay quiet here, and don’t speak a word. It’s lucky this didn’t happen somewhere in the middle of the fields. Praise be to God, in the forest there is enough wood and to spare. Perhaps some one will catch us up who can lend me an axe.”And as he spoke he saw a man coming towards them.“Well met, good man!”“So your carriage has broken the road!”“Put chaff aside, man; it would be better if you came and helped me to mend this axle, for you can see my heart’s breaking with my ill luck.”“But I am in a hurry to get to Oshlobeni. You’ll have to lament in the forest to-night; I don’t think you’ll die of boredom.”“I am ashamed of you,” said Nichifor sulkily. “You are older than I am and yet you have such ideas in your head.”“Don’t get excited, good man, I was only joking. Good luck! The Lord will show you what to do.” And on he went.“Look, Mistress Malca, what people the devil has put in this world! He is only out to steal. If there had been a barrel of wine or brandy about, do you think he would have left the carriage stuck in the middle of the road all that time? But I see, anything there is to do must be done by old Nichifor. We must have another try.”And again he began to cut another sapling. He tried and he tried till he got that, too, into place. Then he whipped up the mares and once more trotted a little way, but at the first slope, the axle-pin broke again.“Now, Mistress Malca, I must say the same as that man, we shall have to spend the night in the forest.”“Oh! Woe is me! Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, what are you saying?”“I am saying what is obvious to my eyes. Look yourself; can’t you see the sun is going down behind the hill, and we are still in the same place? It is nothing at all, so don’t worry. I know of a clearing in the wood quite near here. We will go there, and we shall be just as though we were at home. The place is sheltered and the mares can graze. You’ll sleep in the carriage, and I shall mount guard all night. The night soon passes, we must spend it as best we can, but I will remind my old woman all the rest of her days of this misfortune, for it is her fault that things have gone so with me.”“Well, do what you think best, Mosh Nichifor; it’s sure to be right.”“Come, young lady, don’t take it too much to heart, for we shall be quite all right.”And at once old Nichifor unharnessed the mares and, turning the carriage, he drew it as well as he could, till he reached the clearing.“Mistress Malca, it is like a paradise straight from God here; where one lives for ever, one never dies! But you are not accustomed to the beauty of the world. Let us walk a little bit while we can still see, for we must collect sticks to keepenough fire going all night to ward off the mosquitoes and gnats in the world.”Poor Malca saw it was all one now. She began to walk about and collect sticks.“Lord! you look pretty, young lady. It seems as though you are one of us. Didn’t your father once keep an inn in the village somewhere?”“For a long time he kept the inn at Bodesti.”“And I was wondering how you came to speak Moldavian so well and why you looked like one of our women. I cannot believe you were really afraid of the wolf. Well, well, what do you think of this clearing? Would you like to die without knowing the beauty of the world? Do you hear the nightingales, how charming they are? Do you hear the turtle-doves calling to each other?”“Mosh Nichifor, won’t something happen to us this evening? What will Itzic say?”“Itzic? Itzic will think himself a lucky man when he sees you at home again.”“Do you think Itzic knows the world? Or what sort of accidents could happen on the road?”“He only knows how to walk about his hearth or by the oven like my worn-out old woman at home. Let me see whether you know how to make a fire.”Malca arranged the sticks; old Nichifor drew out the tinder box and soon had a flame. Then old Nichifor said:“Do you see, Mistress Malca, how beautifully the wood burns?”“I see, Mosh Nichifor, but my heart is throbbing with fear.”“Ugh! you will excuse me, but you seem to belong to the Itzic breed. Pluck up a little courage! If you are so timid, get into the carriage, and go to sleep: the night is short, daylight soon comes.”Malca, encouraged by old Nichifor, got into the carriage and lay down; old Nichifor lighted his pipe, spread out his sheepskin cloak and stretched himself by the side of the fire and puffed away at his pipe, and was just going off to sleep when a spark flew out on to his nose!“Damn! That must be a spark from the sticks Malca picked up; it has burnt me so. Are you asleep, Mistress?”“I think I was sleeping a little, Mosh Nichifor, but I had a nightmare and woke up.”“I have been unlucky too; a spark jumped out on to my nose and frightened sleep away or I might have slept all night. But can anyone sleep through the mad row these nightingales are making? They seem to do it on purpose. But then, this is their time for making love to each other. Are you asleep, young lady?”“I think I was going to sleep, Mosh Nichifor.”“Do you know, young lady, I think I will put out the fire now at once: I have just rememberedthat those wicked wolves prowl about and come after smoke.”“Put it out, Mosh Nichifor, if that’s the case.”Old Nichifor at once began to put dust on the fire to smother it.“From now on, Mistress Malca, you can sleep without anxiety till the day dawns. There! I’ve put out the fire and forgotten to light my pipe. But I’ve got the tinder box. The devil take you nightingales: I know too well you make love to each other!”Old Nichifor sat thinking deeply until he had finished his pipe, then he rose softly and went up to the carriage on the tips of his toes.Malca had begun to snore a little. Old Nichifor shook her gently and said:“Mistress Malca! Mistress Malca!”“I hear, Mosh Nichifor,” replied Malca, trembling and frightened.“Do you know what I’ve been thinking as I sat by the fire?”“What, Mosh Nichifor?”“After you have gone to sleep, I will mount one of the mares, hurry home, fetch an axle-pin and axe, and by daybreak I shall be back here again.”“Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, what are you saying? Do you want to find me dead from fright when you come back?”“May God preserve you from such a thing! Don’t be frightened, I was only talking at random.”“No, no, Mosh Nichifor, from now on I shall not want to sleep; I shall get down and sit by you all night.”“You look after yourself, young lady; you sit quietly where you are, for you are comfortable.”“I am coming all the same.”And as she spoke down she came and sat on the grass by old Nichifor. And first one, and then the other was overcome by sleep, till both were slumbering profoundly. And when they woke it was broad daylight.“See, Mistress Malca, here’s the blessed day! Get up and come and see what’s to be done. There, no one has eaten you, have they? Only you have had a great fright!”Malca fell asleep again at these words. But old Nichifor, like a careful man, got up into the carriage, and began rummaging about all over the place, and under the forage bags, and what should there be but the axe and a measure and a gimlet beneath the seat.“Who would have believed it! Here’s a pity! I was wondering why my old woman didn’t take care of me. Now because I wronged her so terribly I must take her back a red fez and a bag of butter to remind her of our youth. Evidently I took them out yesterday with my pipe. But my poor, good old wife, difficult though she is, knew all I should want on the journey, only she did not put them in their right place. But the woman tried to understandall her husband wanted! Mistress Malca! Mistress Malca!”“What is it, Mosh Nichifor?”“Do you know that I have found the axe, and the rope and the gimlet and everything I want.”“Where, Mosh Nichifor?”“Why, under your bundles. Only they had no mouths with which to tell me. We have made a mistake: we have been like some one sitting on hidden treasure and asking for alms. But it’s good that we have found them now. It shows my poor old woman did put them in.”“Mosh Nichifor, you are feeling remorse in your heart.”“Well, yes, young lady. I see I am at fault. I must sing a song of penitence:Poor old wife of mine!Be she kind or be she harsh,Still her home is mine.”And so saying old Nichifor rolled up his sleeves, cut a beech stick, and made a wonderful axle-pin. Then he set it in position, put the wheel in place, harnessed the mares, quietly took the road and said:“In you get, young lady, and let’s start.”As the mares were refreshed and well rested they were at Peatra by middle day.“There you will see your home, Mistress Malca.”“Thank God, Mosh Nichifor, that I came to no harm in the forest.”“The fact is, young lady, there’s no doubt about it, there’s no place like home.”And while they were talking they reached the door of Itzic’s house. Itzic had only just come back from the school, and when he saw Malca he was beside himself with joy. But when he heard all about the adventures they had met with and how the Almighty had delivered them from danger he did not know how to thank old Nichifor enough. What did he not give him! He himself marvelled at all that was given him. The next day old Nichifor went back with other customers. And when he reached home he was so gay that his old woman wondered what he had been doing, for he was more drunk than he had been for a long time.From now on Malca came every two or three weeks to visit her parents-in-law in Neamtzu: she would only let old Nichifor take her back home, and she was never again afraid of wolves.A year, or perhaps several years, after, over a glass of wine, old Nichifor whispered to one of his friends the story of the adventure in the “Dragon” Wood, and the fright Mistress Malca got. Old Nichifor’s friend whispered it again to some friends of his own, and then people, the way people will do, began to give old Nichifor a nickname and say: “Nichifor, the Impostor: Nichifor, the Impostor:” and even though he is dead the poor man has kept the name of Nichifor, the Impostor, to this very day.

Old Nichifor, the Impostor

By I. CreangaOld Nichifor is not a character out of a story-book but a real man like other men; he was once, when he was alive, an inhabitant of the Tzutzuen quarter of the town of Neamtzu, towards the village of Neamtzu Vinatori.When old Nichifor lived in Tzutzuen my grandfather’s grandfather was piper at the christening feast at the house of Mosh Dedui from Vinatori, the great Ciubar-Voda being godfather, to whom Mosh Dedui gave forty-nine brown lambs with only one eye each; and the priest, uncle of my mother’s uncle, was Ciubuc the Bell-ringer from the Neamtzu Monastery, who put up a big bell at this same monastery at his own expense, and had a fancy to ring it all by himself on big feast days, on which account he was called the bell-ringer. About this time old Nichifor lived at Tzutzuen.Old Nichifor was a cab-driver. Although his carriage was only fastened together with thongsof lime and bark, it was still a good carriage, roomy and comfortable. A hood of matting prevented the sun and rain from beating down into old Nichifor’s carriage. In the well of the carriage hung a grease box with a greasing stick and some screws which banged against each other ding! dong! ding! dong! whenever the carriage moved. On a hook below the boot—on the left—was suspended a little axe to be ready for any emergency.Two mares, white as snow and swift as flame, nearly always supported the pole of the carriage; nearly always but not quite always; old Nichifor was a horse-dealer, and when he got the chance he would either exchange or sell a mare in the middle of a journey, and in that case the pole would be bare on the one side. The old man liked to have young, well-bred mares; it was a weakness with him. Perhaps you will ask me why mares and always white ones, and I will tell you this: mares, because old Nichifor liked to breed from them, white, because the whiteness of the mares, he said, served him as a lantern on the road at nights.Old Nichifor was not among those who do not know that “It is not good to be coachman behind white horses or the slave of women;” he knew this, but the mares were his own, and when he took care of them they were taken care of and when he did not—well, there was no one to reproach him. Old Nichifor avoided carrier’s work; he refused to do any lifting for fear of giving himself a rupture.“Cab driving,” he said, “is much better; one has to deal with live goods who go up hill on foot, and down hill on foot, and only stay in the carriage when it halts.”Old Nichifor had a whip of hemp twig, plaited by his own hand, with a silk lash, which he cracked loud enough to deafen you. And whether he had a full load or was empty, old Nichifor always walked up the hills and usually pulled together with the mares. Down the hills he walked to avoid laming the mares.The passengers, willing or unwilling, had to do the same, for they had enough of old Nichifor’s tongue, who once rounded on one of them like this: “Can’t you get out and walk; the horse is not like a blockhead that talks.” If you only knew how to appreciate everything that fell from old Nichifor’s mouth, he was very witty. If he met a rider on the road, he would ask: “Left the Prince far behind, warrior?” and then, all at once, he would whip up the mares, saying:“White for the leader, white for the wheeler,The pole lies bare on the one side.Heigh! It’s not far to Galatz. Heigh!”But if he met women and young girls then he sang a knowing song, rather like this:“When I took my old wifeEight lovers did sigh:Three women already wed,And five girls, in one village.”They say, moreover, that one could not take the road, especially in the month of May, with a pleasanter or gayer man. Only sometimes, when you pretended not to see you were passing the door of a public house, because you did not feel inclined to soften old Nichifor’s throat, did you find him in a bad mood, but even on these occasions he would drive rapidly from one inn to the other. On one occasion, especially, old Nichifor coveted two mares which were marvels on the road, but at the inns, whether he wanted to or no, they used to halt, for he had bought them from a priest.My father said that some old men, who had heard it from old Nichifor’s own lips, had told him that at that time it was a good business being a cab-driver in Neamtzu town. You drove from Varatic to Agapia, from Agapia to Varatic, then to Razboeni; there were many customers, too, at the church hostels. Sometimes you had to take them to Peatra, sometimes to Folticeni, sometimes to the fair, sometimes to Neamtzu Monastery, sometimes all about the place to the different festivals.My father also said he had heard from my grandfather’s grandfather that the then prior of Neamtzu is reported to have said to some nuns who were wandering through the town during Holy Week:“Nuns!”“Your blessing, reverend Father!”“Why do you not stay in the convent and meditate during Passion Week?”“Because, reverend Father,” they are said to have replied with humility, “this wool worries us, but for that we should not come. Your Reverence knows we keep ourselves by selling serge, and though we do not collect a great deal, still those who go about get something to live on....”Then, they say, the prior gave a sigh, and he laid all the blame on old Nichifor, saying:“I would the driver who brought you here might die, for then he could not bring you so often to the town.”They say old Nichifor was greatly troubled in his mind when he heard this, and that he swore an oath that as long as he lived he would never again have dealings with the clergy, for, unfortunately, old Nichifor was pious and was much afraid of falling under the ban of the priests. He quickly went to the little monastery at Vovidenia to Chiviac, the anchorite of St. Agura, who dyed his hair and beard with black cherries, and on dry Friday he very devoutly baked an egg at a candle that he might be absolved from his sins. And after this he decided that from henceforth he would have more to do with the commercial side.“The merchant,” said old Nichifor, “lives by his business and for himself.”When he was asked why, old Nichifor answered jokingly:“Because he has not got God for his master.”Old Nichifor was a wag among wags, there was no doubt of it, but owing to all he had to put up with he became a bit disagreeable.I don’t know what was the matter with her, but for some time past, his old wife had begun to grumble; now this hurt her; now that hurt her; now she had the ear-ache; now some one had cast a spell over her; now she was in tears. She went from one old witch to the other to get spells and ointments. As for old Nichifor, this did not suit him and he was not at all at his ease; if he stayed two or three days at home there was such bickering and quarrelling and ill will that his poor old wife rejoiced to see him leave the house.It’s plain old Nichifor was made for the road, and that when he was off it he was a different man; let him be able to crack his whip and he was ready to chaff all the travellers he met and tell anecdotes about all the chief places he passed through.Early one day—it was the Wednesday before Whit-Sunday—old Nichifor had taken a wheel off the carriage, and was greasing it when suddenly Master Shtrul of Neamtzu town came up behind him; he was a grocer; a dealer in ointments; he took in washing; he traded in cosmetics, hair-dyes, toilet accessories, blue stone, rouge or some good pomade for the face, palm branches, smelling salts and other poisons.At that time there was no apothecary in Neamtzu town and Master Shtrul to please the monks and nuns brought them all they wanted. Of course he did other business too. To conclude, I hardly know how to tell you, he was more important than the confessor, for without him the monasteries could not have existed.“Good morning, Mosh Nichifor!”“Good luck to you, Master Shtrul. What business brings you to us?”“My daughter-in-law wants to go to Peatra. How much will you charge to take her there?”“Probably she will have a great many packages like you do, sir,” said old Nichifor, scratching his head. “That doesn’t matter; she can have them. My carriage is large; it can hold a good deal. But without bargaining, Master Shtrul, you give me sixteen shillings and a gold irmal and I’ll take her there quite easily; for you’ll see, now I’ve attended to it and put some of this excellent grease into it, the carriage will run like a spinning-wheel.”“You must be satisfied with nine shillings, Mosh Nichifor, and my son will give you a tip when you get to Peatra.”“All right, then; may God be with us, Master Shtrul. I am glad the fair is in full swing just now; perhaps I shall get a customer for the return journey. Now I would like to know when we have to start?”“Now, at once, Mosh Nichifor, if you are ready.”“I am ready, Master Shtrul; I have only to water the mares. Go and get your daughter-in-law ready.”Old Nichifor was energetic and quick at his work and he rapidly threw some fodder into the carriage, spread out a couple of leather cushions, put to the mares, flung his sheepskin cloak round his shoulders, took his whip in his hand and was up and away. Master Shtrul had scarcely reached home when old Nichifor drew up his carriage at the door. Malca—that was the name of Master Shtrul’s daughter-in-law—came out to take a look at the driver.This is Malca’s story: it appeared that Peatra was her native place; she was very red in the face, because she had been crying at parting with her parents-in-law. It was the first time she had been in Neamtzu; it was her wedding visit as they say with us. It was not much more than two weeks since she had married Itzic, Master Shtrul’s son, or, it would be better to say, in all good fellowship, that Itzic had married Malca. He had quitted his parents’ house according to the custom, and in two weeks’ time Itzic had brought Malca to Neamtzu and placed her in his parents’ hands and had returned quickly to Peatra to look after his business.“You have kept your promise, Mosh Nichifor?”“Certainly, Master Shtrul; my word is my word. I don’t trouble myself much. As for thejourney, it’s as well to set out early and to halt in good time in the evening.”“Will you be able to reach Peatra by the evening, Mosh Nichifor.”“Eh! Do you know what you’re talking about, Master Shtrul? I expect, so help me God, to get your daughter-in-law to Peatra this afternoon.”“You are very experienced, Mosh Nichifor; you know better than I do. All I beg of you is that you will be very careful to let no harm befall my daughter-in-law.”“I did not start driving the day before yesterday, Master Shtrul. I have already driven dames and nuns and noble ladies and other honest girls, and, praise be to God, none have ever complained of me. Only with the nun Evlampia, begging sister from Varatic, did I have a little dispute. Wherever she went it was her custom to tie a cow to the back of the carriage, for economy’s sake, that she might have milk on the journey; this caused me great annoyance. The cow, just like a cow, pulled the forage out of my carriage, once it broke the rack, going uphill it pulled back, and once it nearly strangled my mares. And I, unhappy man that I am, was bold enough to say, ‘Little nun, isn’t it being a penny wise and a pound foolish?’ Then she looked sadly at me, and in a gentle voice said to me, ‘Do not speak so, Mosh Nichifor, do not speak thus of the poor little cow, for she, poor thing, is notguilty of anything. The anchorite fathers of St. Agura have ordained that I should drink milk from a cow only, so that I may not get old quickly; so what is to be done? I must listen to them, for these holy men know a great deal better than do we poor sinners.’“When I heard this, I said to myself, that perhaps the begging Sister had some reason on her side, and I left her to her fate, for I saw that she was funny and at all events was determined to drink only from one well. But, Master Shtrul, I do not think you are going to annoy me with cows too. And, then, Mistress Malca, where it is very steep, uphill or down, will always get out and walk a little way. It is so beautiful out in the country then. But there, we mustn’t waste our time talking. Come, jump in, Mistress Malca, that I may take you home to your husband; I know how sad it is for these young wives when they have not got their husbands with them; they long for home as the horse longs for his nose-bag.”“I am ready to come, Mosh Nichifor.”And she began at once to pick up the feather mattress, the soft pillows, a bundle containing food, and other commodities. Then Malca took leave of her parents-in-law, and got on to the feather mattresses in the bottom of the carriage. Old Nichifor jumped on to the box, whipped up the mares, and left Master Shtrul and his wife behind in tears. Old Nichifor drove at a great pacethrough the town, the mares seemed to be almost flying. They passed the beach, the villages, and the hill at Humuleshti in a second. From Ocea nearly to Grumazeshti they went at the gallop.But the other side of Grumazeshti old Nichifor took a pull from the brandy flask which had come from Brashov, lit his pipe, and began to let the mares go their own pace.“Look, Mistress Malca, do you see that fine, large village? It is called Grumazeshti. Were I to have as many bulls and you as many sons as Cossacks, barbarians and other low people have dropped dead there from time to time, it would be well for us!”“God grant I may have sons, Mosh Nichifor.”“And may I have bulls, young lady—I have no hope of having sons; my wife is an unfruitful vine; she has not been busy enough to give me even one; may she die before long! When I am dead there’ll be nothing left but this battered old carriage and these good-for-nothing mares!”“Don’t distress yourself, Mosh Nichifor,” said Malca, “maybe God has willed it so; because it is written in our books, concerning some people, that only in their old age did they beget sons.”“Don’t bother me, Mistress Malca, with your books. I know what I know; it’s all in vain, we never can choose. I have heard it said in our church that ‘a tree that bears no fruit should be hewn down and cast into the fire.’ Can one haveanything clearer than that? Really, I wonder how I can have had patience to keep house with my old woman so long. In this respect you are a thousand times better off. If he does not give you a child you’ll get some one else. If that does not do—why then another; and in due time will come a little blessing from the Almighty. It’s not like that with us who see ourselves condemned to live with one barren stock to the end of our life with no prospect of children. After all the great and powerful Lord was not crucified for only one person in this world. Isn’t it so, young lady? If you have anything more to say, say it!”“It may be so, Mosh Nichifor.”“Dear young lady, it is as I tell you.Houp là!We have gone a good part of the way. Lord, how a man forgets the road when he’s talking, and when one wakes up who knows where one has got to. It’s a good thing the Holy God has given one companionship! Hi! daughters of a dragon, get on! Here is the Grumazeshti Forest, the anxiety of merchants and the terror of the boyars. Hei, Mistress Malca, if this forest had a mouth to tell what it has seen, our ears could not hear more terrible adventures: I know we should hear some things!”“But what has happened here, Mosh Nichifor?”“Oh, young lady, oh! God grant that what has been may never be again! One used to have some trouble to pass through here without beingrobbed, thrashed or murdered. Of course this happened more often by night than by day. As for me, up to now, I have never spoken in an unlucky hour, God preserve me! Wolves and other wild beasts have come out in front of me at different times, but I didn’t hurt them; I left them alone, I pretended not to see anything, and they went about their own business.”“Ah, Mosh Nichifor, don’t talk about wolves any more, for they terrify me.”I have told you how amusing old Nichifor was; sometimes he would say something that made you hold your sides with laughing, at other times he would bring your heart into your mouth with fear.“There is a wolf coming towards us, Mistress Malca!”“Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, where can I hide?”“Hide where you are, for I can tell you one thing, I am not afraid of the whole pack.”Then poor Malca, terrified, clung round old Nichifor’s neck, and stuck to him like a leech, and as she sat there she said, trembling:“Where is the wolf, Mosh Nichifor?”“Where is it? It crossed the road just in front of us, and went into the wood again. But if you had strangled me, young lady, and then the mares had bolted, it would have been a fine look out.”He had scarcely ceased speaking when Malca said softly:“Never tell me again that a wolf is coming, Mosh Nichifor, I shall die from fright.”“It is not that I say so; there is one just coming; there you have one!”“Alas! What are you saying?”And again she hid close to old Nichifor.“What is young is young. You want to play, young lady, isn’t that it? It seems to me you’re lucky, for I keep my self-control. I am not very afraid of the wolf, but if some one else had been in my place——”“No more wolves will come, Mosh Nichifor, will they?”“Oho! you are too funny, young lady, you want them to come too often. You mustn’t expect to see a wolf at every tree. On St. Andrew’s Day many of them prowl together in the same place and the huntsmen are on the watch. During the great hunt, do you think it’s only a few wolves that are put to shame by having to leave their skins as hostages? Now we will let the mares get their wind. Look, this is ‘Dragon Hill.’ Once an enormous dragon alighted here, which spouted flames out of his mouth, and when it whistled the forest roared, the valleys groaned, the wild beasts trembled and beat their heads together with fear, and no one dared pass by here.”“Alas! And where is the dragon, Mosh Nichifor?”“How should I know, young lady? Theforest is large, it knows where it has hidden itself. Some say that after it had eaten a great many people and peeled the bark off all the oaks in the wood it expired at this spot. By others I have heard it said that it made a black cow give it milk, and this enabled it to rise again into the skies whence it had fallen. But how do I know whom to believe? People will say anything! Luckily I understand witchcraft, and I am not at all afraid of dragons. I can take serpents out of their nest as easily as you can take a flea out of your poultry-house.”“Where did you learn these spells, Mosh Nichifor?”“Eh? My dear young lady, that I may not tell. My old woman—she was just on twenty-four when I fell in love with her—what hasn’t she done! How she has worried me to tell her, and I wouldn’t tell her. And that’s why she’ll die when she does die, but why hasn’t she died long before, for then I could have got a younger woman. For three days I can live in peace with her, and then it’s enough to kill one! I am sick to death of the old hag. Every minute she worries and reproaches me by her manner. When I think that when I return I have got to go back to her, I feel wild—just inclined to run away—nothing more nor less.”“Stop, stop, Mosh Nichifor, you men are like that.”“Eh! Mistress Malca, here we are near the top of the wood. Won’t you walk a little while we goup the hill? I only say it because I am afraid you will get stiff sitting in the carriage. Look at the lovely flowers along the edge of the wood, they fill the air with sweetness. It is really a pity for you to sit huddled up there.”“I am afraid of the wolf, Mosh Nichifor,” said Malca, shaking.“Let’s have done with that wolf. Have you nothing else to talk about?”“Stand still that I may get down.”“Wo! Step gently here on to the step of the carriage. Ah, now I see for myself that you are sturdy; that’s how I like people to be, born not laid.”While Malca gathered some balm to take to Itzic, old Nichifor stood still and tinkered a little at the carriage. Then he called quickly:“Are you ready, young lady? Come, get in and let us get on with the help of God; from here on it is mostly down hill.”After Malca has mounted she asked:“Are we a little late, Mosh Nichifor?”“If we meet with no obstacles I shall soon have you in Peatra.”And he whipped up the mares, saying:“White for the leader, white for the wheelerThe pole lies bare on the one side.Heigh! It’s not far to Galatz. Heigh!”He had scarcely gone twenty yards when—bang! An axle-pin broke.“Well, here’s a to-do!”“Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, we shall be benighted in the wood.”“Don’t take it amiss, Mistress Malca. Come, it’s only happened to me once in my life. While you eat a little something, and the mares put away a bit of fodder, I shall have replaced the axle-pin.”When old Nichifor came to look at the hook, the little axe had disappeared!“Well, what has been had to be,” said old Nichifor, knitting his eyebrows, and getting angry as he thought of it. “If God punishes the old woman, may he punish her! See how she takes care of me; there is no axe here.”When poor Malca heard this she began to sigh and to say:“Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?”“Now, young lady, don’t lose heart, for I have still a ray of hope.”He drew his pocket-knife out of its sheath, he went to the side of the carriage, and began to cut away at a young oak of the previous year. He cut it as best he could, then he began to rummage about in a box in the carriage to find some rope; but how could he find it if it had not been put in? After looking and looking in vain, he cut the cord from the nose-bag, and a strap from the bridle of one of the mares to tie the sapling where it was wanted, put the wheel in position, slipped in the bit of wood which ran from the head of the axle tothe staff-side of the carriage, twisted round the chain which connected the head of the axle with the shaft, and tied it to the step; then he lit his pipe and said:“Look, my dear young lady, how necessity teaches a man what to do. With old Nichifor of Tzutzuen no one comes to grief on the road. But from now on sit tight in the bottom of thecarriage, and hold fast to the back of your seat, for I must take these mares in hand and make them gallop. Yes, I warrant you, my old woman won’t have an easy time when I get home. I’ll play the devil with her and teach her how to treat her husband another time, for ‘a woman who has not been beaten is like a broken mill.’ Hold tight, Mistress Malca!Houp-là!”And at once the mares began to gallop, the wheels to go round, and the dust to whirl up into the sky. But in a few yards the sapling began to get hot and brittle and—off came the wheel again!“Ah! Everything is contrary! It’s evident I crossed a priest early this morning or the devil knows what.”“Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?”“We shall do what we shall do, young lady. But now stay quiet here, and don’t speak a word. It’s lucky this didn’t happen somewhere in the middle of the fields. Praise be to God, in the forest there is enough wood and to spare. Perhaps some one will catch us up who can lend me an axe.”And as he spoke he saw a man coming towards them.“Well met, good man!”“So your carriage has broken the road!”“Put chaff aside, man; it would be better if you came and helped me to mend this axle, for you can see my heart’s breaking with my ill luck.”“But I am in a hurry to get to Oshlobeni. You’ll have to lament in the forest to-night; I don’t think you’ll die of boredom.”“I am ashamed of you,” said Nichifor sulkily. “You are older than I am and yet you have such ideas in your head.”“Don’t get excited, good man, I was only joking. Good luck! The Lord will show you what to do.” And on he went.“Look, Mistress Malca, what people the devil has put in this world! He is only out to steal. If there had been a barrel of wine or brandy about, do you think he would have left the carriage stuck in the middle of the road all that time? But I see, anything there is to do must be done by old Nichifor. We must have another try.”And again he began to cut another sapling. He tried and he tried till he got that, too, into place. Then he whipped up the mares and once more trotted a little way, but at the first slope, the axle-pin broke again.“Now, Mistress Malca, I must say the same as that man, we shall have to spend the night in the forest.”“Oh! Woe is me! Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, what are you saying?”“I am saying what is obvious to my eyes. Look yourself; can’t you see the sun is going down behind the hill, and we are still in the same place? It is nothing at all, so don’t worry. I know of a clearing in the wood quite near here. We will go there, and we shall be just as though we were at home. The place is sheltered and the mares can graze. You’ll sleep in the carriage, and I shall mount guard all night. The night soon passes, we must spend it as best we can, but I will remind my old woman all the rest of her days of this misfortune, for it is her fault that things have gone so with me.”“Well, do what you think best, Mosh Nichifor; it’s sure to be right.”“Come, young lady, don’t take it too much to heart, for we shall be quite all right.”And at once old Nichifor unharnessed the mares and, turning the carriage, he drew it as well as he could, till he reached the clearing.“Mistress Malca, it is like a paradise straight from God here; where one lives for ever, one never dies! But you are not accustomed to the beauty of the world. Let us walk a little bit while we can still see, for we must collect sticks to keepenough fire going all night to ward off the mosquitoes and gnats in the world.”Poor Malca saw it was all one now. She began to walk about and collect sticks.“Lord! you look pretty, young lady. It seems as though you are one of us. Didn’t your father once keep an inn in the village somewhere?”“For a long time he kept the inn at Bodesti.”“And I was wondering how you came to speak Moldavian so well and why you looked like one of our women. I cannot believe you were really afraid of the wolf. Well, well, what do you think of this clearing? Would you like to die without knowing the beauty of the world? Do you hear the nightingales, how charming they are? Do you hear the turtle-doves calling to each other?”“Mosh Nichifor, won’t something happen to us this evening? What will Itzic say?”“Itzic? Itzic will think himself a lucky man when he sees you at home again.”“Do you think Itzic knows the world? Or what sort of accidents could happen on the road?”“He only knows how to walk about his hearth or by the oven like my worn-out old woman at home. Let me see whether you know how to make a fire.”Malca arranged the sticks; old Nichifor drew out the tinder box and soon had a flame. Then old Nichifor said:“Do you see, Mistress Malca, how beautifully the wood burns?”“I see, Mosh Nichifor, but my heart is throbbing with fear.”“Ugh! you will excuse me, but you seem to belong to the Itzic breed. Pluck up a little courage! If you are so timid, get into the carriage, and go to sleep: the night is short, daylight soon comes.”Malca, encouraged by old Nichifor, got into the carriage and lay down; old Nichifor lighted his pipe, spread out his sheepskin cloak and stretched himself by the side of the fire and puffed away at his pipe, and was just going off to sleep when a spark flew out on to his nose!“Damn! That must be a spark from the sticks Malca picked up; it has burnt me so. Are you asleep, Mistress?”“I think I was sleeping a little, Mosh Nichifor, but I had a nightmare and woke up.”“I have been unlucky too; a spark jumped out on to my nose and frightened sleep away or I might have slept all night. But can anyone sleep through the mad row these nightingales are making? They seem to do it on purpose. But then, this is their time for making love to each other. Are you asleep, young lady?”“I think I was going to sleep, Mosh Nichifor.”“Do you know, young lady, I think I will put out the fire now at once: I have just rememberedthat those wicked wolves prowl about and come after smoke.”“Put it out, Mosh Nichifor, if that’s the case.”Old Nichifor at once began to put dust on the fire to smother it.“From now on, Mistress Malca, you can sleep without anxiety till the day dawns. There! I’ve put out the fire and forgotten to light my pipe. But I’ve got the tinder box. The devil take you nightingales: I know too well you make love to each other!”Old Nichifor sat thinking deeply until he had finished his pipe, then he rose softly and went up to the carriage on the tips of his toes.Malca had begun to snore a little. Old Nichifor shook her gently and said:“Mistress Malca! Mistress Malca!”“I hear, Mosh Nichifor,” replied Malca, trembling and frightened.“Do you know what I’ve been thinking as I sat by the fire?”“What, Mosh Nichifor?”“After you have gone to sleep, I will mount one of the mares, hurry home, fetch an axle-pin and axe, and by daybreak I shall be back here again.”“Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, what are you saying? Do you want to find me dead from fright when you come back?”“May God preserve you from such a thing! Don’t be frightened, I was only talking at random.”“No, no, Mosh Nichifor, from now on I shall not want to sleep; I shall get down and sit by you all night.”“You look after yourself, young lady; you sit quietly where you are, for you are comfortable.”“I am coming all the same.”And as she spoke down she came and sat on the grass by old Nichifor. And first one, and then the other was overcome by sleep, till both were slumbering profoundly. And when they woke it was broad daylight.“See, Mistress Malca, here’s the blessed day! Get up and come and see what’s to be done. There, no one has eaten you, have they? Only you have had a great fright!”Malca fell asleep again at these words. But old Nichifor, like a careful man, got up into the carriage, and began rummaging about all over the place, and under the forage bags, and what should there be but the axe and a measure and a gimlet beneath the seat.“Who would have believed it! Here’s a pity! I was wondering why my old woman didn’t take care of me. Now because I wronged her so terribly I must take her back a red fez and a bag of butter to remind her of our youth. Evidently I took them out yesterday with my pipe. But my poor, good old wife, difficult though she is, knew all I should want on the journey, only she did not put them in their right place. But the woman tried to understandall her husband wanted! Mistress Malca! Mistress Malca!”“What is it, Mosh Nichifor?”“Do you know that I have found the axe, and the rope and the gimlet and everything I want.”“Where, Mosh Nichifor?”“Why, under your bundles. Only they had no mouths with which to tell me. We have made a mistake: we have been like some one sitting on hidden treasure and asking for alms. But it’s good that we have found them now. It shows my poor old woman did put them in.”“Mosh Nichifor, you are feeling remorse in your heart.”“Well, yes, young lady. I see I am at fault. I must sing a song of penitence:Poor old wife of mine!Be she kind or be she harsh,Still her home is mine.”And so saying old Nichifor rolled up his sleeves, cut a beech stick, and made a wonderful axle-pin. Then he set it in position, put the wheel in place, harnessed the mares, quietly took the road and said:“In you get, young lady, and let’s start.”As the mares were refreshed and well rested they were at Peatra by middle day.“There you will see your home, Mistress Malca.”“Thank God, Mosh Nichifor, that I came to no harm in the forest.”“The fact is, young lady, there’s no doubt about it, there’s no place like home.”And while they were talking they reached the door of Itzic’s house. Itzic had only just come back from the school, and when he saw Malca he was beside himself with joy. But when he heard all about the adventures they had met with and how the Almighty had delivered them from danger he did not know how to thank old Nichifor enough. What did he not give him! He himself marvelled at all that was given him. The next day old Nichifor went back with other customers. And when he reached home he was so gay that his old woman wondered what he had been doing, for he was more drunk than he had been for a long time.From now on Malca came every two or three weeks to visit her parents-in-law in Neamtzu: she would only let old Nichifor take her back home, and she was never again afraid of wolves.A year, or perhaps several years, after, over a glass of wine, old Nichifor whispered to one of his friends the story of the adventure in the “Dragon” Wood, and the fright Mistress Malca got. Old Nichifor’s friend whispered it again to some friends of his own, and then people, the way people will do, began to give old Nichifor a nickname and say: “Nichifor, the Impostor: Nichifor, the Impostor:” and even though he is dead the poor man has kept the name of Nichifor, the Impostor, to this very day.

By I. Creanga

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“White for the leader, white for the wheeler,

The pole lies bare on the one side.

Heigh! It’s not far to Galatz. Heigh!”

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

“When I took my old wifeEight lovers did sigh:Three women already wed,And five girls, in one village.”

“When I took my old wife

Eight lovers did sigh:

Three women already wed,

And five girls, in one village.”

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

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

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

“Nuns!”

“Your blessing, reverend Father!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he was asked why, old Nichifor answered jokingly:

“Because he has not got God for his master.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, Mosh Nichifor!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Now, at once, Mosh Nichifor, if you are ready.”

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

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

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

“You have kept your promise, Mosh Nichifor?”

“Certainly, Master Shtrul; my word is my word. I don’t trouble myself much. As for thejourney, it’s as well to set out early and to halt in good time in the evening.”

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

“Eh! Do you know what you’re talking about, Master Shtrul? I expect, so help me God, to get your daughter-in-law to Peatra this afternoon.”

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

“I did not start driving the day before yesterday, Master Shtrul. I have already driven dames and nuns and noble ladies and other honest girls, and, praise be to God, none have ever complained of me. Only with the nun Evlampia, begging sister from Varatic, did I have a little dispute. Wherever she went it was her custom to tie a cow to the back of the carriage, for economy’s sake, that she might have milk on the journey; this caused me great annoyance. The cow, just like a cow, pulled the forage out of my carriage, once it broke the rack, going uphill it pulled back, and once it nearly strangled my mares. And I, unhappy man that I am, was bold enough to say, ‘Little nun, isn’t it being a penny wise and a pound foolish?’ Then she looked sadly at me, and in a gentle voice said to me, ‘Do not speak so, Mosh Nichifor, do not speak thus of the poor little cow, for she, poor thing, is notguilty of anything. The anchorite fathers of St. Agura have ordained that I should drink milk from a cow only, so that I may not get old quickly; so what is to be done? I must listen to them, for these holy men know a great deal better than do we poor sinners.’

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

“I am ready to come, Mosh Nichifor.”

And she began at once to pick up the feather mattress, the soft pillows, a bundle containing food, and other commodities. Then Malca took leave of her parents-in-law, and got on to the feather mattresses in the bottom of the carriage. Old Nichifor jumped on to the box, whipped up the mares, and left Master Shtrul and his wife behind in tears. Old Nichifor drove at a great pacethrough the town, the mares seemed to be almost flying. They passed the beach, the villages, and the hill at Humuleshti in a second. From Ocea nearly to Grumazeshti they went at the gallop.

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

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

“God grant I may have sons, Mosh Nichifor.”

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

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

“Don’t bother me, Mistress Malca, with your books. I know what I know; it’s all in vain, we never can choose. I have heard it said in our church that ‘a tree that bears no fruit should be hewn down and cast into the fire.’ Can one haveanything clearer than that? Really, I wonder how I can have had patience to keep house with my old woman so long. In this respect you are a thousand times better off. If he does not give you a child you’ll get some one else. If that does not do—why then another; and in due time will come a little blessing from the Almighty. It’s not like that with us who see ourselves condemned to live with one barren stock to the end of our life with no prospect of children. After all the great and powerful Lord was not crucified for only one person in this world. Isn’t it so, young lady? If you have anything more to say, say it!”

“It may be so, Mosh Nichifor.”

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

“But what has happened here, Mosh Nichifor?”

“Oh, young lady, oh! God grant that what has been may never be again! One used to have some trouble to pass through here without beingrobbed, thrashed or murdered. Of course this happened more often by night than by day. As for me, up to now, I have never spoken in an unlucky hour, God preserve me! Wolves and other wild beasts have come out in front of me at different times, but I didn’t hurt them; I left them alone, I pretended not to see anything, and they went about their own business.”

“Ah, Mosh Nichifor, don’t talk about wolves any more, for they terrify me.”

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

“There is a wolf coming towards us, Mistress Malca!”

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

“Hide where you are, for I can tell you one thing, I am not afraid of the whole pack.”

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

“Where is the wolf, Mosh Nichifor?”

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

He had scarcely ceased speaking when Malca said softly:

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

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

“Alas! What are you saying?”

And again she hid close to old Nichifor.

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

“No more wolves will come, Mosh Nichifor, will they?”

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

“Alas! And where is the dragon, Mosh Nichifor?”

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

“Where did you learn these spells, Mosh Nichifor?”

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

“Stop, stop, Mosh Nichifor, you men are like that.”

“Eh! Mistress Malca, here we are near the top of the wood. Won’t you walk a little while we goup the hill? I only say it because I am afraid you will get stiff sitting in the carriage. Look at the lovely flowers along the edge of the wood, they fill the air with sweetness. It is really a pity for you to sit huddled up there.”

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

“Let’s have done with that wolf. Have you nothing else to talk about?”

“Stand still that I may get down.”

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

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

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

After Malca has mounted she asked:

“Are we a little late, Mosh Nichifor?”

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

And he whipped up the mares, saying:

“White for the leader, white for the wheelerThe pole lies bare on the one side.Heigh! It’s not far to Galatz. Heigh!”

“White for the leader, white for the wheeler

The pole lies bare on the one side.

Heigh! It’s not far to Galatz. Heigh!”

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

“Well, here’s a to-do!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?”

“Now, young lady, don’t lose heart, for I have still a ray of hope.”

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

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

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

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

“Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?”

“We shall do what we shall do, young lady. But now stay quiet here, and don’t speak a word. It’s lucky this didn’t happen somewhere in the middle of the fields. Praise be to God, in the forest there is enough wood and to spare. Perhaps some one will catch us up who can lend me an axe.”And as he spoke he saw a man coming towards them.

“Well met, good man!”

“So your carriage has broken the road!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, do what you think best, Mosh Nichifor; it’s sure to be right.”

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

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

“Mistress Malca, it is like a paradise straight from God here; where one lives for ever, one never dies! But you are not accustomed to the beauty of the world. Let us walk a little bit while we can still see, for we must collect sticks to keepenough fire going all night to ward off the mosquitoes and gnats in the world.”

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

“Lord! you look pretty, young lady. It seems as though you are one of us. Didn’t your father once keep an inn in the village somewhere?”

“For a long time he kept the inn at Bodesti.”

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

“Mosh Nichifor, won’t something happen to us this evening? What will Itzic say?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I see, Mosh Nichifor, but my heart is throbbing with fear.”

“Ugh! you will excuse me, but you seem to belong to the Itzic breed. Pluck up a little courage! If you are so timid, get into the carriage, and go to sleep: the night is short, daylight soon comes.”

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

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

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

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

“I think I was going to sleep, Mosh Nichifor.”

“Do you know, young lady, I think I will put out the fire now at once: I have just rememberedthat those wicked wolves prowl about and come after smoke.”

“Put it out, Mosh Nichifor, if that’s the case.”

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

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

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

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

“Mistress Malca! Mistress Malca!”

“I hear, Mosh Nichifor,” replied Malca, trembling and frightened.

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking as I sat by the fire?”

“What, Mosh Nichifor?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I am coming all the same.”

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

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

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

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

“What is it, Mosh Nichifor?”

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

“Where, Mosh Nichifor?”

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

“Mosh Nichifor, you are feeling remorse in your heart.”

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

Poor old wife of mine!Be she kind or be she harsh,Still her home is mine.”

Poor old wife of mine!

Be she kind or be she harsh,

Still her home is mine.”

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

“In you get, young lady, and let’s start.”

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

“There you will see your home, Mistress Malca.”

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

“The fact is, young lady, there’s no doubt about it, there’s no place like home.”

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

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

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

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