Chapter IV: Part 4

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

"Good morning, Mosh Nichifor!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have kept your promise, Mosh Nichifor?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am ready to come, Mosh Nichifor."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It may be so, Mosh Nichifor."

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

"But what has happened here, Mosh Nichifor?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where is the wolf, Mosh Nichifor?"

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

He had scarcely ceased speaking when Malca said softly:

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

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

"Alas! What are you saying?"

And again she hid close to old Nichifor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stand still that I may get down."

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

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

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

After Malca has mounted she asked:

"Are we a little late, Mosh Nichifor?"

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

And he whipped up the mares, saying:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Mosh Nichifor, what are we to do?"

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

"Well met, good man!"

"So your carriage has broken the road!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mistress Malca! Mistress Malca!"

"I hear, Mosh Nichifor," replied Malca, trembling and frightened.

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

"What, Mosh Nichifor?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I am coming all the same."

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

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

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

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

"What is it, Mosh Nichifor?"

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

"Where, Mosh Nichifor?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

COZMA RACOARE

By M. SADOVEANU

He was a terrible man, Cozma Racoare!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boyar Nicola thought to himself: "You are not ugly, you are not stupid--what's the reason of it? Is she, perhaps, in love with some one else?" No. He watched for one whole night. Nobody entered, and nobody left the courtyard.

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

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

Farther on the gardener was resting from the heat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is to be done, Vasile?"

"How should I know, master?"

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

"H'm----"

"Do not desert me, Vasile!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The forest shuddered with the whisper of the breeze of the autumn night. The men rode silently. From time to time could be heard the trumpeting of the cock, coming they knew not whence. Beyond lay silence. At last the widow's courtyard came into sight, black, like some heap of coal.

Like ghosts Nicola and his companions approached the wall; in silence they dismounted; they threw rope-ladders over the top of the wall, climbed up and over to the other side. The horses remained tied to the trees.

Suddenly they heard cries. Boyar Nicola was not afraid. He hurried to the door--the doors were not shut. He passed along the corridor.

"Aha!" murmured the Greek. "Now I shall have the darling in my arms."

But suddenly a door was opened, and a bright sea of light illuminated the passage. Boyar Nicola was not frightened. He advanced towards the room. But he had scarcely gone two paces when there, on the threshold, stood the Sultana, with her hair undone, in a thin white petticoat and a white dressing-jacket. With frowning brows she stood in the doorway looking at the boyar.

Nicola was beside himself. He would willingly have gone on his knees, and kissed her feet, so beautiful was she. But he knew if he knelt before her she would only mock him. He approached to embrace her.

"Hold!" cried the Sultana. "I thought there were thieves! Ha, ha! it is you, Boyar Nicola?"

And suddenly, there in the light, she raised a shining scimitar in her right hand. Nicola felt a hard blow on the side of his head. He stood still. His grooms started to run, but one fell, yelling, and covered with blood. Just then a great noise was heard, and the lady's servants came in.

Nicola fled towards the exit followed by his four companions. Then on into the yard with scimitars flashing on their right and on their left. And once more they are on horseback fleeing towards Vulturesht.

There he dismounted, feeling very bitter, and entered the garden once more, and once more sat on the stone bench, and hid his face in his hands.

"Woe is me!" he murmured miserably. "How wretched is my life! What is to be done? What is to be done?"

He sat there in the October night tortured by his thoughts. Only the breeze carrying the mist from the fields disturbed him.

"Woe is me! How wretched is my life!" and he bent forward, his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. "What a terrible woman!" he murmured again as he mused. "What eyes she has! Oh, Blessed Virgin! Oh, Blessed Virgin! Do not abandon me, for my heart is breaking!"

For some time he stayed there dreaming. After a while he rose and moved towards the house.

"What a terrible woman, and what eyes!"

In the house he once more called for Vasile.

"Good Vasile, I am undone! A terrible woman, good Vasile--she has burnt my heart and turned it to ashes! What is to be done? Do not leave me! Look, you understand, you shall have two of my ducats."

"I know what you have been through, master. She is a proud lady, there is no denying it! If I knew you would give me five ducats, or even six--but there, it's only an idea----"

"Speak, Vasile, good man, I will give you---- What eyes! Woe is me!"

"Then I understand, master," says Vasile, "that you give me seven ducats, but you'll have to give seven times seven if you get her here at your hand--don't be afraid, master, it is not much--only seven times seven to have her here at your hand! I'll bring Cozma Racoare to you! As sure as you put the ducats into the palm of my hand, so sure will he put the Sultana into your arms, that's that."

Boyar Nicola was rather alarmed when he heard talk of Cozma Racoare, but afterwards he sighed and said:

"Good!"

Three days later Racoare came. Nicola was sitting on the stone bench in the garden under the lime-tree, smoking a pipe of fragrant tobacco. When he caught sight of the highwayman he sat gazing at him with startled eyes. Cozma came calmly along with his horse's bridle in his left hand. He wore top boots up to his knees with long steel spurs. A long gun was slung across his back. On his head was a black sheepskin cap. He walked unconcernedly as usual with knitted brows; his horse followed him with bent head.

Vasile, the boyar's agent, came up to the stone seat, scratching his head, and whispered with a grin:

"What do you say to this, master? Just take a look at him. He could bring you the devil himself!"

Boyar Nicola could not take his eyes off Cozma. The highwayman stopped and said:

"God be with you!"

"I thank you," replied Vasile. "God grant it!"

The boyar remained persistently silent.

"H'm!" murmured Vasile. "You have come to see us, friend Cozma?"

"I have come," responded Racoare.

"On our business?"

"Yes."

Cozma spoke slowly, frowning; wherever he might be no smile ever lit up his face.

"Ah, yes, you have come," said the boyar, as if awaking from sleep. "Vasile, go and tell them to prepare coffee, but bring wine at once."

"Let them make coffee for one," said Cozma, "I never drink."

Vasile went off grinning, after a side-glance at his master.

"Ah, you never drink!" said the boyar with an effort. "So, so, you have come on our business--how much? Ah, I am giving fifty ducats."

"Good!" said Racoare quietly.

Vasile returned, smiling knowingly. The boyar was silent.

"Eh," said Vasile, scratching his head, "how are you getting on?"

"Good Vasile, go and fetch the purse from under my pillow."

"No, there is no need to give me a purse," said the highwayman, "I have no need of money."

"What?" murmured the boyar. "Ah, yes! You do not need? Why?"

"The thing is to put the Sultana of Frasini into your arms--I hand you over the lady, and you hand me the money."

"Let's be brief!" cried Vasile, passing his hand through his hair. "One party gives the lady, the other the money. What did I tell you? Cozma would fetch you the devil from hell. From henceforth the lady is yours."

Racoare turned round, strode to the bottom of the garden, fastened his horse to a tree, drew a cloak of serge from his saddle, spread it out and wrapped himself in it.

"Well! Well!" groaned Boyar Nicola, breathing heavily. "What a terrible man! But I feel as though he had taken a load off my mind."

Vasile smiled but said nothing. Later, when he was by himself, he began to laugh and whisper: "Ha, ha! He who bears a charmed life is a lucky man!"

The boyar started up as from sleep and looked fearfully at Vasile; then he shook his head and relapsed into thought.

"Ah, yes!" he murmured, without understanding what he was talking about.

When night had fallen Cozma Racoare tightened his horse's girths and mounted. Then he said:

"Boyar, wait for me in the glade at Vulturesht."

The gates were opened, the horse snorted and rushed forth like a dragon.

The full moon shone through the veil of an autumnal mist, weaving webs of light, lighting up the silent hills and the dark woods. The rapid flight of the bay broke the deep silence. Racoare rode silently under the overhanging woods with their sparse foliage; he seemed like a phantom in the blue light.

Then he reached Frasini. Every one was asleep, the doors were shut. Cozma knocked at the door: Rat-a-tat! Rat-a-tat!

"Who is there?" cried a voice from within.

"Open!" said Racoare.

"Who are you?"

"Open!" shouted Cozma.

From within was heard a whispered:

"Open!" "Do not open!" "Open, it is Cozma!"

A light shone through a niche in the wall above the door, and lighted up Cozma's face. Then a rustling sound became audible, the light was extinguished, and the bar across the door rattled.

Cozma entered the empty courtyard, dismounted by the steps, and pushed open the door.

"The door is open," he murmured, "the lady is not nervous."

In the dark corridor his footsteps and his spurs echoed as in a church. A noise was heard in one of the rooms, and a bright light shone into the passage. The Sultana appeared in the doorway, dressed in white with her hair unplaited, with frowning brows and the scimitar in her right hand.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she cried.

"I have come to fetch you," said Racoare shortly, "and take you to Boyar Nicola."

"Ah, you are not burglars?" said the lady, and raised her scimitar. "See here, you will meet the same fate as your Nicola!"

Racoare took a step forward, calmly seized the scimitar, squeezed the lady's fist, and the steel blade flew into a corner. The lady sprang quickly back, calling:

"Gavril! Niculai! Toader! Help!"

Voices were heard, and the servants crowded into the passage, and stood by the door. Racoare approached the lady, and tried to seize her. She avoided him, and caught up a knife from the table.

"What are you doing, you boobies? Help! Seize him, bind him!"

"Don't talk nonsense--I see you are not frightened; I cannot do other than I am doing!" said Racoare.

Then the servants murmured again:

"How can we bind him? It is Racoare. He is here! Cozma Racoare, lady!"

"Cowards!" cried the lady, and threw herself upon Cozma.

The highwayman took her arm, pressed her hands together, tied them with a leather strap, and lifted her under his arm like a bundle.

"Get out of the way!" he said then, and the people fell over each other as they scattered to either side.

"What a pearl among women!" thought Cozma, while he strode along the corridor with the lady under his arm, "he has not bad taste, that Boyar Nicola! Proud woman!"

The Sultana looked with eyes wide with horror at the servants who gave way on either hand in their terror. She felt herself held as in a vice. At last she raised her eyes to Racoare's fierce face. The light from the room was reflected in the man's steely eyes, and lit up his weather-beaten face.

"Who are you?" she gasped.

"I? Cozma Racoare."

The lady gave another glance at the servants huddled in the corners, and she said not another word. Now she understood.

Outside, the highwayman mounted the bay, placed the lady in front of him, and set spurs to his horse. Once more the sound of the galloping horse broke the silence of the night.

"What a pearl among women!" thought Racoare, and the horse sped along the road like a phantom.

The lady turned her head, and studied Racoare by the light of the moon.

"Why do you look at me like that, lady?" And the horse sped along under the overhanging woods.

The black hair of the lady shone in great billows of light. The foliage glistened with hoar-frost, like silver-leaf. The lady looked at the highwayman and shuddered, she felt herself squeezed in his powerful arms, and her eyes burnt like two stars beneath the heavy knitted brows.

"Why do you look at me like that, lady? Why do you shiver? Are you cold?"

The galloping hooves thundered through the glades, the leaves glittered in their silver sheen, and the bay passed on like a phantom in the light.

A shadow suddenly appeared in the distance.

"What is that yonder?" questioned the lady.

"Boyar Nicola awaits us there," replied Racoare.

The lady said no more. But Cozma felt her stiffen herself. The leather strap was snapped, and two white hands were lifted up. The highwayman had no time to stop her. Like lightning she seized the bridle in her right hand, and turned the horse on the spot, but her left arm she twined round Racoare's neck. The highwayman felt the lady's head resting against his breast, and a voice murmured softly:

"Would you give me to another?"

And the horse flew like a phantom through the blue light; the meadows rang with the sound of the galloping hooves, the silver leaves glistened, and tresses of black hair floated in the wind. But now shadows seemed to be pursuing them. The hills on the horizon seemed peopled with strange figures, which hurried through the light mist. But the black phantom sped on, and ever onwards, till it was lost in the far distance, in the gloom of the night.

THE WANDERERS

By M. SADOVEANU

A house stood isolated in the middle of a garden, separated from the main group about the market-place.

It was an old house, its veranda was both high and broad and had big whitewashed pillars. The pointed roof was tiled and green with moss. In front of the veranda, and facing south, stood two beautiful round lime-trees throwing out their shade.

One day in the month of August, the owners, Vladimir Savicky and Ana, his wife, were sitting in the veranda. Both were old, weather-beaten by the storms of many journeys and the misfortunes of life. The old man wore a long white beard and long white hair, which was parted down the middle and smooth on the top; he smoked a very long pipe, and his blue eyes gazed towards the plains which stretched away towards the sunset. The old woman, Ana, selected a nosegay of flowers from a basket. He was tall and vigorous still, she was slight with gentle movements. Forty years ago they left their ruined Poland, and settled in our country. They kept an adopted daughter, and had a son of thirty years of age, a bachelor, and a good craftsman. They had lived for thirty years here in the old house, busying themselves with market-gardening: for thirty years they had lived a sad, monotonous life in this place. They had been alone with their adopted child, with Magdalena; Roman, their boy, had been roaming through the world for the last ten years.

Old Vladimir puffed away at his pipe as he stroked his beard; the warmth of the afternoon had made him lay aside his blue jacket. The old wife was choosing her flowers. A gentle breeze, laden with fragrance, came from the garden, from the trees heavy with fruit, and from the gay-coloured flowers. Shafts of light penetrated through the leafy limes, little patches of white light came from above, and played over the bright grass, green as the tree-frog. From time to time the quivering foliage sent a melodious rustle into the peaceful balcony.

At intervals the soft notes of a song floated through the open window.

Suddenly a resounding noise broke the stillness of the day. What was it? A carriage. The old man started, put down his pipe, and rose. The old woman put her head, wrapped in a white shawl, out over the railings. The rumbling vehicle, an ugly Jew upon the box, drew nearer, and pulled up outside the door of the old house. A strong, broad-shouldered young man descended, a big bundle in his right hand, a case in his left.

"Roman! Roman!" cried the old lady in a feeble voice. She tried to rise but fell softly back beside the flowers.

"There, there, old lady, it is Roman," murmured the old man gaily, as he went down the stairs.

"Mr. Roman!" cried a gentle voice, and Magdalena's fair head appeared at the window.

Roman had let fall the bundle and thrown himself into his father's arms.

"Yes, old lady, it is Roman!" murmured Vladimir Savicky, with tears in his eyes. He embraced his son, and pressed him to his heart. "Yes, old lady, it is Roman!" That was all he could find to say.

"Mother," cried the young man, "I have not seen you for ten years."

The old mother cried silently, her son strained her to his breast, while the old man wandered round murmuring tearfully into his beard:

"Yes, yes, old lady, it is our Roman."

As Roman Savicky straightened his strong frame and turned round, he saw a white face with blue eyes in the doorway. He stood transfixed with astonishment; the girl watched him, smiling shyly.

"Ha! ha!" laughed old Savicky, "how now? Do you not know each other? Ah! Kiss each other, you have known Magdalena ever since she was a child."