Part 8

"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.