SANGA-MOARTA
The Lieutenant and his comrade had already been more than twelve hours
in the wilderness of Batrina on their way to Marisel. Clement asked
everybody he met if the village were not near, always receiving the
same answer that it was still some distance farther. Now and then they
met a Wallachian peasant with an ox-team; the man shouting to his lazy
beasts, trying to goad them into a quicker gait. Then there was a pool
to wade through, where a half-naked, picturesque company of gypsies
washing the gold out of the sand, stared at the questioning strangers
like wild beasts. Sometimes along the road there would be the picture
of a saint in the mossy hollow of a tree, with only the dull gilding
left of the weather-beaten paint. In the natural niche there would be
the pomana,--a pitcher of spring water which some young Wallachian
girl, as an act of piety, had placed there for thirsty travelers.
The way led them through valleys and over heights, and the greater
part of their way they had to lead their horses by the bridle instead
of riding. On all sides was the forest, tall, slender beeches mingled
with dark green firs.
In one place they came to a fork of the roads; one way led along the
valley and the other to the top of a bald, steep mountain with
out-jetting cliff.
"Which way now?" said Clement. "I have never been so far."
"Take the traveled road," replied Zulfikar. "Only a fool would climb
this steep height. It probably leads to some foundry."
Clement looked doubtfully around him. Suddenly he caught sight of a
man seated on the rock overhanging the road. He was a young Wallachian
with white face and long curling hair; his leather coat was open on
his breast and his cap lay beside him on the ground. There he sat,
bent over on the edge of the high cliff dangling his feet in the air,
with his stony face in his hands gazing out into the distance.
"Ho there!" cried Clement, and in a mixture of Hungarian, Latin, and
Wallachian asked, "Which way does this road go?"
The Wallachian did not seem to hear the cry. He remained in the same
position, staring fixedly.
"He is either deaf or dead," said Zulfikar, when they had both shouted
at him in vain. "We had better follow the regular road."
And they set off on a trot. The Wallachian did not even look after
them. Evening was near and the way to Marisel had no end. It went from
valley to valley, never once passing a human habitation. The rocks in
the way and the streams crossing at different points made it almost
impassable. At last in one part of the forest a column of fire rose
before them and the sound of singing fell on their ears. As they came
nearer they saw the fire of a pyre built up of whole tree-trunks, in a
spot shaded by trees the foliage of which was scorched by the flames.
Near this was a crowd of Wallachians leaping wildly with violent
gestures; at the same time they beat the ground with long clubs and
seemed to be treading letters into the ground, waving their arms
frantically, while they howled out verses that were formulated
imprecations, as if they were driving out some kind of evil spirit. A
circle of young women danced round the men. The lovely creatures, with
their black hair interwoven with ribbons and jewels, their
flower-embroidered dresses, pleated neckerchiefs, broad-striped
aprons, gold earrings, necklaces of silver coins and high-heeled red
boots, formed an agreeable contrast to the wild, defiant-looking men,
with their high cocked hats on the heavy shocks of hair, their
sunburned necks, greasy waistcoats and broad girdles. The dance and
the songs were also strange. The women circled in and out among their
husbands, raising a mournful wail, while the men stamped on the
ground and joined in with yells of triumph. The fire threw a red light
and dark shadows over the wild group. On a tree stump beyond sat an
old piper, and from a goatskin drew forth monotonous tones that
mingled with the song in wild discord. When the fire was burned down
to ashes the dancers suddenly separated, dragged out the figure of a
woman stuffed with straw and dressed in rags, laid it on two poles and
carried it to the fire crying wildly in Hungarian, "Tuesday
evening,[1] Tuesday evening!" and repeated three times, "Burn to
ashes, you accursed witch of Tuesday evening!" Then they threw it into
the glowing coals and the women danced round with cries of joy until
the effigy was entirely burned, while the men leaped about with wild
shouts.
[Footnote 1: On this day superstition assigns peculiar power to the
witches.]
"Who are you? And what are you doing here?" called out Clement, who
had until then escaped their notice.
"We live in Marisel and have burned up Tuesday evening," they answered
with one voice and with earnest look as if they had accomplished
something very sensible.
"Get through with it quickly and come to your village, for I am here
at the command of the Prince to ask some lawful questions."
"And I," said Zulfikar, "at the command of the mighty Pasha of Nagy
Varad, to impose a new tax."
The Wallachians looked after the Lieutenant in silence until he
vanished from their sight, and then said with clenched fists:
"May Tuesday evening carry him off!" And then they moved off with the
bagpiper at their head singing as they went to the village.
* * * * *
It was a small straggling Wallachian village into which the Lieutenant
rode with his comrade. One house was just like another; mud huts with
high roofs, projecting rafters, and enclosed within quick set hedges.
The doors were so low that one must stoop to enter. Every house
consisted of a single room in which the entire family lived, together
with hens and goats.
At the entrance to the village was a large triumphal arch of stone,
and over the main gate was the torso of a Minerva. In front were
figures of a battle finely cut, and underneath an inscription in large
letters in Latin: "This town the invincible Trojan had built in memory
of his triumph." Behind this were miserable mud huts.
Before a house of mourning on the capital of a fallen Corinthian
column sat Prefika, the oldest of the old women of the village,
weeping paid tears over the corpse of the young woman on the bier
within.
In front of a grass-grown hill was a grand stone building. In former
times it might have been a temple erected to the memory of some Roman
hero, but now the Wallachian villagers had made it their church,
covering the temple with a pointed roof and spoiling the interior with
dreadful paintings. For lack of any other public place the Lieutenant
called the people together in this church. The setting sun through the
round panes, lighted up strangely the interior of this old building
with its walls covered from top to bottom with hideous pictures of
saints, whom the monstrous fancies of peasant artists had clad in red
cloaks and spurred boots. Among the many pictures was the well-known
allegory which represents Death dragging off a king, a beggar and a
priest. And scattered among the pictures of the saints were those
representing devils with tongues outstretched, holding sinners by the
hair of the head. Behind the altar stood the village priest and the
Lieutenant.
When Clement had read aloud to the people his warrant of authority he
called up the village magnate and asked him these questions:
"Are there any wizards or sorcerers among you who can call on the
devil for help?"
At this question there was a timid whispering throughout the company,
and after a long pause the priest answered:
"In former years, great and good lord, there was a godless reprobate
in our midst who had liver spots on his neck and body; since these are
sent by the devil, they did not pain him, even if they were burned
with hot coals. We sent him before the Council at Weissenburg, and as
he could not stand the test of water he was burned to death."
"Are there any among you who are witches, vampires, people who can
harm the children of others, go through the air, turn milk red, hatch
out serpents' eggs or find grasses that open locks; or, in short, know
how to do anything supernatural?"
To this question there were a hundred answers at once. Everybody
strove to tell the questioner his experiences. The young married women
in particular crowded about the Lieutenant.
"One at a time," said the Lieutenant, authoritatively. "The judge
shall tell what he knows."
"Yes, there was an old witch in the village," said the judge, slily,
"we called her Dainitza. For a long time she practiced her evil among
us, for her eyes were red. When she chose she could bring on a storm,
so that the wind would take the roofs off. Once when she went out to
get a hail storm the lightning struck the village in three places. At
that the women grew furious, caught her and threw her in the pool. But
even there the witch still cried out, 'Take care, you will yet ask me
for the water, that you are now giving me to drink.' Then the women
fished the body out of the water, where it had caught on a stone,
thrust an arrow through her heart, buried her in the valley and rolled
a great stone over her grave. But the witch's curse against us still
held, all summer long not a drop of rain fell in our boundaries.
Everything dried up and pestilence carried off our cattle. Dainitza
had drunk up all the rain and all the dew. So we went to her grave,
saying, 'Drink, drink your fill, cursed vampire; don't lap up all the
water and dew away from us;' and at last the drought ended."
The priest testified that this was true and Clement wrote it down
carefully on his parchment.
Now came the third question:
"Is there anybody among you who dares smoke tobacco; either cutting up
the leaves and putting them in his pipe, or laying them on the fire
and breathing the smoke that rises?"
"There is not anybody, my lord; we do not know this food."
"See to it, that no one tries to learn it; for if anybody is caught
doing it, by decision of the states the pipe will be thrust through
his nose and the guilty man led through the entire market place."
The fourth question was:
"Is there any one among the peasants here who wears cloth dress,
marten cap, or morocco boots?"
"Why not," replied the judge, "if our poverty would permit? not that
we long for dyed cloth and morocco."
"It is not allowed; the states of the country have forbidden the
peasants to wear clothes fitting their masters."
Now came the fifth question:
"Who were the people who acted contrary to the decision of the states
that the peasants should exterminate the sparrows, and mocked those
who were appointed to collect the sparrows' heads?"
The judge advanced humbly toward the Lieutenant:
"Believe me, my great and good lord, on account of the drought the
sparrows have all left the country. Say to the Prince that we have not
been able to find one single one all summer long."
"That is a lie," said Clement.
"It is just as I say," persisted the judge, seizing Clement by the
hand and skilfully pressing into it two silver groschen.
"It is not impossible," said the Lieutenant, appeased. "Finally,
answer this question: Has any one of you seen wandering about in this
region, foreign animals, beasts of prey from other countries?"
"Yes, indeed, my lord, we have seen them in great numbers."
"And what kind of animals were they?" asked Clement, in joyful
curiosity.
"Why, dog-headed Tartars"--
"You fool! I am not asking for them. I wish to know whether in your
wanderings through the forest you have not seen a foreign, four-footed
beast of prey with striped skin."
The judge shook his head incredulously, looked at his people and
answered with a shrug of his shoulders:
"We have seen no such strange animal. It may be that Sanga-moarta has
seen it, for he is forever wandering through the woods and ravines in
his foolish way."
"Who is this Sanga-moarta? Summon him."
"Ah, my lord, he is hard to find; he rarely comes into the village.
His mother may be here."
"Here she is! Here she is," cried several peasants, and pushed forward
an old woman with sunken features, whose head was wound round several
times with a white cloth.
"What kind of a foolish name[2] have you given your son?" asked the
Lieutenant of her. "Whoever heard of giving a human being the name
dead-man's-blood?"
[Footnote 2: That name is the Hungarian for dead man's blood.
(Transcriber's Note: The footnote is incorrect. "Sanga-moarta" is not
Hungarian, but rather Romanian.)]
"I did not give him this name, my lord," said the old woman, with
quavering voice. "The people of the village call him that because no
one has ever seen him laugh. He never talks to anybody, and if you
speak to him he does not answer. He did not weep when his father died
and he never cared for any girl. He is always wandering about in the
woods."
"All right, old woman, that does not concern me."
"I know, my lord, it does not concern you; but you must hear that the
handsomest girl in the village, the beautiful Floriza, fell in love
with my son. There is not a more beautiful girl in all the country
round! Such black eyes, such long black braids, such rosy cheeks, such
a slender figure! There was not the like far and wide. Then too, she
was so industrious and loved my son so. She had sixteen shifts in her
outfit, that she herself had spun and woven, and she wore a necklace
of two hundred silver pieces and twenty gold guldens--Sanga-moarta
never looked at the girl. When Floriza made him wreaths he would not
put them around his hat. When she gave him kerchiefs he would not
fasten them to his buttonhole. No matter what beautiful songs the girl
sang as he passed her door, Sanga-moarta never stopped. Yet she loved
him. Often she would say to him when they met on the street;--'You
never come to see me. I suppose you would not look at me if I should
die,' and Sanga-moarta would say:--'Yes, I should.' 'Then I will die
soon,' the maiden would say sorrowfully. 'I will come to see you
then,' Sanga-moarta would answer, and pass on. Are you tired of the
story, my good lord? it is almost done. The beautiful Floriza is dead.
Her heart was broken. There she lies on her bier. Before the house are
the branches of mourning. When Sanga-moarta sees this and learns that
Floriza is dead he will come out of the woods to look at his dead love
as he promised, for he always keeps his word. Then you can talk with
him."
"Very well," said Clement, who had grown serious and was almost
annoyed that peasants who had certainly not read Horace's Ars Poetica
should have their own poetry.
"You must watch for your son's coming and let me know."
"It will be better for you to go yourself," said the old woman; "for I
hardly think that he will answer anybody else."
"Then take me there," said the Lieutenant.
The entire company set out in the direction of the house of mourning,
at the extreme edge of the village. This end of Marisel is so far from
the church that it was night before they reached the house.
The moon had come up behind the mountains: in front of the houses were
fir trees and through their dark needles gleamed its rays. In the
distance was heard the melancholy sound of a shepherd's pipe. The
paid mourner sobbed outside the door. The wreaths swayed in the
breeze. Within lay the beautiful girl, dead, waiting for her restless,
wandering lover. The moonlight fell on her white face.
* * * * *
The people surrounded the house. They crept stealthily through the
courtyard and looked through the window and whispered, "There he is,
there he is!"
The Lieutenant, the priest, the judge and Sanga-moarta's mother
entered the room. Stretched across the threshold lay the girl's
father, dead drunk. In his great sorrow he had drunk so much the day
before that he would hardly sleep it off before another day. In the
middle of the room stood the coffin made of pine, painted with bright
roses by the brush of the village artist; within lay the girl of
barely sixteen years. Her beautiful brow was encircled with a wreath;
in one hand had been placed a wax candle and in the other a small
coin: at the head of the coffin were two wax candles stuck in a jar
covered with gingerbread; at the foot of the coffin on a painted chair
with high back, sat Sanga-moarta, bent over with his eyes fixed on the
girl's face. The priest and the judge remained standing at the door in
superstitious piety. Clement walked up to the youth and at a glance
recognized him as the one who had not been willing to direct him on
his way.
"Hello, young man, so you are the one who does not answer people's
questions?"
The youth verified his words by making no reply.
"Now listen to me and answer what I ask you; I am the Lieutenant of
the district. Do you hear?"
Sanga-moarta gazed in silence at Floriza, lost in melancholy and as
immovable as the dead. His mother, the worthy woman, took him fondly
by the hand and spoke to him by his true name.
"Jova, my son, answer this gentleman. Look at me, I am your dear
mother."
"In the name of my master, the Prince, I command you to answer,"
shouted the Lieutenant, his voice growing more and more angry. The
Wallachian was still silent.
"I ask you whether in your wanderings through the forest you have
noticed anywhere a foreign beast. I mean a beast of prey, called
panther by the learned."
Sanga-moarta seemed to start with terror as if he had been wakened
from a sleep. Suddenly he turned his usually fixed eyes to the
questioner. Over his face came a feverish color, and fairly trembling,
he stammered out,
"I have seen it--I have seen it--I have seen it."
And with that he covered his eyes so that he should not look at the
dead.
"Where have you seen it?" asked the Lieutenant.
"Far--far from here," whispered the Wallachian. Then he became silent
again and buried his face in his hands.
"Name the place,--where?"
The Wallachian looked timidly about him, shivered as if a chill had
gone over him and whispered to the Lieutenant, with timidly rolling
eyes,
"In the neighborhood of Gregyina-Drakuluj."[3]
[Footnote 3: Devil's Garden.]
The priest and the judge crossed themselves three times, and the
latter raised his eyes most devoutly to a picture of Peter, hanging on
the wall, as if he would call on him for help.
"You seem to me a courageous youth since you dare go near the Devil's
garden," said the Lieutenant. "Will you show me the way?"
The Wallachian expressed by the pleasure in his face that he would
gladly show him the way.
"In the name of Saint Nicholas and all the archangels, do not go
there, my lord!" cried the priest. "Nobody who has ever wandered there
has returned. The godly do not turn their steps that way. This youth
has been led thither by his sins."
"I do not go there of my own accord," said Clement, scratching his
head. "Not that I am afraid of the name of the country, but I do not
like to climb around over mountains. However my office requires it and
I must fulfil my duty."
"Then at least fasten a consecrated boat on your cap," urged the
anxious shepherd of souls. "Or else take a picture of Saint Michael
with you so that the devils cannot come near you."
"Thank you, my good people. But you would do better if you would get
me a pair of sandals; I cannot go through the mountains in these
spurred boots. Your safeguards I can make no use of, for I am a
Unitarian."
At this reply the priest crossed himself and said with a sigh:
"I thought you were a true believer, you inquired so zealously about
the witches."
"This is only my official duty, not my belief. Send me the Turk."
As he went out, the Pope murmured half aloud,
"You go well together,--two pagans."
"Comrade Zulfikar," called out Clement to the Turk as he entered,
fastening on the sandals that had been brought, "you can look out for
your own route now, for I must take a little side-dodge into the
mountains."
"If you dodge, I will dodge too," replied the distrustful deserter.
"Wherever you go, I will go."
"Where I am going, my dear friend, there is nothing to put in your
pocket; it must be you wish to bag the devil, for no human being has
ever set foot there."
"How do I know where the people live in this confounded country of
yours! My orders were to go with you until I reached the
starting-point again."
"All the better, for there will be more of us. Help me draw my sword
out of the scabbard, so I can defend myself if necessary."
"So you carry a sword that it takes two men to draw. Let me get hold
of it."
The two men planted their feet, grasped the sword with both hands and
tugged at it for some time. At last it came out of its scabbard,
almost throwing Clement over backward. Then Clement took a pitcher of
honey, rubbed the rusty sword with the sticky stuff and put it back
into its scabbard.
"Now we must be on our way, young man," he said to the Wallachian.
The latter at once took up his hat and his axe from the ground and
went ahead without as much as one glance back at the dead. His mother
seized him by the hand.
"Will you not kiss your dead love?"
Sanga-moarta did not so much as look--pulled his hand away from his
mother's, and went with the two strangers out into the deep darkness
of the forest.
* * * * *
All night long these adventurers wandered through a deep valley from
which they could just catch sight of the giant summits rising on all
sides; directly overhead glimmered a strip of starry sky. Toward
morning they reached the midst of the mountains. What a sight that
was! Along the shining crystal peaks stretched dark green forest--on
one side rose a crag of basalt, with columns like organ pipes in rows,
topped by trees. In front of this crag of basalt a white cloud moved,
but the summit and base of the rock were to be seen; from time to time
the lightning flashed through the cloud but it was some time before
the roll of the thunder rang through the organ pipes. At a little
distance is a cleft in the rocks, and the two parts look as if their
jagged edges would fit together. Through the ravine several fathoms
wide, a branch of the cold Szomas forces its way and is lost again
among the thick oaks along the shore. In another place the rocks are
piled up in stairs not intended however for human foot, for each step
is as high as a house. Again the rocks are tumbled together in such a
way that the entire mountain mass would fall into other forms if the
rock beneath were moved from its position. Everything indicates that
here the rule of man has found its limit. From the dizzying height not
a single hut is seen; on all sides are bold crags and yawning chasms
through which the mountain streams roll tumultuously. Only the ibex
wanders from crag to crag.
"Which way are we going?" Clement asked his guide, looking anxiously
about, where there was every possibility of losing oneself
irrecoverably.
"Trust yourself to me," replied Sanga-moarta, and he led them with
confident knowledge of the place through this unfrequented region.
In places where a path seemed hardly possible, he knew where to find
the way over the cleft rocks. He had noticed every root that could
help one in climbing; every tree-trunk bridging a chasm; every narrow
ledge of rock where one could step by clinging to its projections; in
short, he moved through this labyrinth with the utmost confidence.
"We are near the end," he said, suddenly, after he had climbed a steep
wall of rock and looked over the country, and he stretched his hand
down and drew the others up after him. The scene was now changed. The
declivity of the rock that they had mounted was under them; a smooth
surface in semi-circular shape formed a basin hundreds of fathoms
deep, where the dark green water of a mountain lake gleamed. There
was no breeze but the lake was broken with foam. The opposite side of
the basin was formed by a group of mountains with fir trees at the
base, and where the two mountain masses came together a small stream
flowed into this lake, over which the ice that tumbled into the valley
made a crystal arch.
"Where will that bring us?" Clement asked, with horror.
"To the head of the stream," replied Sanga-moarta. "It has made its
way through the ice and if we follow its track we shall reach the
place we seek."
"But how shall we get there? This wall of rock is as smooth as glass,
one slip and there is nothing between us and the bottom of the lake."
"You must take care, that is all. You will have to lie down on your
back and slip down sidewise. Now and then you will find a bush of
Alpine roses that you can cling to; but there is no danger of slipping
if you are barefoot,--follow my example."
A blood-curdling pleasure awaited them. The men took off their shoes
and clung firmly with hands and feet to the smooth wall of stone. They
had gone barely half way when there was a mysterious sound from the
opposite mountains; it seemed as if the rocks beneath them trembled.
"Stay where you are," shouted Sanga-moarta to the others. "There is a
snow-slide."
And the next moment could be seen the white ball set in motion in the
remote mountains, rolling down the steep heights, tearing along with
it rocks and uprooted trees, growing every instant more terrible; and
as it made great bounds to the valley it shook the mountain to its
very foundations.
"Oh my God!" cried Clement, trying to reach the guide with one hand
while he clung to the rock with the other. "It will come and kill us
all."
"Stay where you are," Sanga-moarta called out to them, when he saw
that they were trying to climb up and would so expose themselves to
the danger of slipping back. "This slide is going toward that rock and
there it will be either broken or held fast."
It was true that the snow-slide, now grown to mammoth size, was
rolling toward a jutting cliff that seemed dwarf-like in comparison.
The roll of the avalanche had grown so loud that every other sound was
lost in its thundering roar. Now the snow plunged against the rock in
its path, struck its peak with a fearful bound and gave the whole
mountain such a shock that it quivered to its foundations. For a
moment the entire vicinity was covered with a cloud of snow flying
with the velocity of steam. After the last clap, the thunder ceased.
Then followed a frightful cracking. The avalanche had torn the
opposing rock from its base and the two plunged down into the lake
below them. This, lashed to foam, engulfed the mass and its waves,
mounting fearfully, rose to the height of fifty fathoms, where the
bold climbers were clinging to the face of the rock. Then the waves
settled back, for a few moments took the form of a towering green
column which finally subsided, and after some time quiet again ruled
over the waters.
Clement lay there more dead than alive, while Sanga-moarta's first
look was to see if the bed of the stream had been overflowed by the
war of the waters. But the mass of snow had plunged into the lake
without raising it a foot; all had disappeared in the bottomless
depths; a mountain lake neither rises nor falls.
"Let us go on our way," said Sanga-moarta. "It will be all the easier
now that the rock is wet, to climb down."
In the course of half an hour they had reached the mouth of the
stream. A wonderful passage opened before them. The stream had its
source in a warm spring, which following the course of the valley, was
buried under mountains and avalanches. The warm water had hollowed out
a covered passage, so melting the ice that only its outer surface
remained frozen, and this was constantly added to by the influence of
the atmosphere, while within it was as constantly melted by the warmth
of the spring; the result was that the stream flowed under a crystal
archway with glittering icicles. Into this passage Sanga-moarta led
his companions. Clement could only think of the magic palaces in fairy
tales, where the enchanted mortal got the sunlight through transparent
water. As they were wading along the stream at one point the
underground passage suddenly grew dark. Heavy masses took the place of
the transparent vaulting. The crusting of ice was thicker; it changed
to dark blue, and to black; the noise of the waters was the only
guide. The men, up to their knees in the water, found it growing
warmer and warmer until finally they heard a hissing, and through a
cleft in the rock caught sight of the sunlight once more. At the
source of the spring, as they clung to some bushes to resist the force
of the boiling waters, they found themselves in a deep, well-like
valley.
"We are in the Gregyina-Drakuluj."
It is a round valley with mountains rising about it several hundred
feet high. If you would look down from their summits you must crawl on
your stomach to the edge of the cliff, and then unless you have strong
nerves you will fall from the dizzying height. In this valley-bed
below the flowers are always in bloom; in the sternest winter season
here you can find those dark green plants with broad indented leaves;
those small round-leaved trees that are nowhere else in the country.
The yellow cups of the leather-leaved water-lilies open just at this
time. The place is covered, summer and winter, with freshest green;
the wild laurel climbs high in the crevices of the rocks and throws
its red berries down into the valley, while all around is cold and
dead.
The whole winter through the valley is covered with the rarest
flowers. That is why the Wallachian calls it the Devil's garden, and
is afraid to go near it. Yet the miracle has a purely natural cause.
In a hole in the depth of the valley is a hot mineral spring that
never comes to light, but warms through the earth above; and, as warm
waters have their own peculiar flora, these strange plants flourish
there beside their quickening element. The whole place is like a
greenhouse in the open air amid storms and ice mountains.
Sanga-moarta beckoned silently to his comrades to follow him. A
feverish unrest was noticeable throughout his whole being. After a few
steps he pointed with trembling hand to a dark hollow where there was
an iron door.
"What is that?" cried Clement, reaching for his sword. "Is this hollow
inhabited?"
"Yes," replied Sanga-moarta, with blood evidently on fire and his
temples swollen to bursting. "There in that pool she bathes; here I
have listened day after day, but have not had the courage to go near."
He stammered in scarcely audible words though they were passionate.
"Who?" asked the Lieutenant, perplexed.
"The fairy," stammered the Wallachian, with quivering lips, and buried
his burning lips in his hands.
"What kind of a fairy?" said Clement, turning to Zulfikar. "I am
looking for a panther."
"Hush, there is the sound of a key in the door," said Zulfikar, "step
back."
The two men had to pull Sanga-moarta from the door. This opened
noiselessly and a woman stepped forth leading a panther by a spiked
collar of gold. Sanga-moarta had good cause to call her a fairy. A
magnificent woman stood there in delicate Oriental garb. The long gold
tassel of her red fez fell down over her white turban; above her
ermine-embroidered caftan gleamed her ivory white shoulders; her
movements were sinuous and bewitching. The three men held their breath
while the woman passed by without noticing them.
"Ha, there she is!" whispered Zulfikar, when she had passed.
"Who is she? So you know her," said Clement.
"Azraele, once the favorite of Corsar Bey."
"Where are we then?"
"Be still, or she will hear us."
Meantime the woman had reached the pool, seated herself on a stone
bench and loosed her turban. The dark curls fell down over her
shoulders.
Sanga-moarta's hot panting was heard in the darkness. The panther lay
quietly at the feet of his mistress, his wise head resting on his
forepaws. Azraele now took her gay Persian shawl from her waist and
made ready to lay aside her caftan. But first she made a few steps
toward the cliff, which shut her off from the sight of the men.
Sanga-moarta was ready to plunge after her.
"You are crazy," said Zulfikar in his ear. "Are you going to betray us
by your curiosity?"
"The boy is in love with the woman," whispered Clement.
At this instant a splash was heard in the water as if some one had
jumped in and was playing in the waves. Sanga-moarta tore himself
madly from the grasp of his comrades and ran with a wild cry down to
the pool. At this cry Azraele, in all her enchanting beauty, sprang
out of the water, looked with flashing eyes at the bold man, and said
to her panther,
"Oglan, seize him!"
Until then the panther had lain motionless, but the instant his
mistress called him to a struggle he jumped up with a snarl, caught
hold of the Wallachian, and with one movement drew him to the ground.
Sanga-moarta did not defend himself against the beast, but stretched
out his hands entreatingly to the charming woman, appeared to be
drawing in her beauty with his thirsty glance, while he dragged
himself with a groan to her feet; Azraele gazed at him wildly, and,
wrapped in her cloak, watched her pet panther tear the youth; for the
beast was never drawn to any one except for his death.
"I'll go to his help," said Clement, mad with terror,--and drew his
sword.
"Stop. Don't be foolish," said Zulfikar. "There is something more
sensible for us to do. The iron door has been left open; let us slip
in while the lady is occupied and find out what there is of interest
here for our masters. If not of interest to yours it certainly will be
to mine."
With that the two men stole through the doorway, groped their way
along the narrow passage that seemed to be hewn into the rock and at
its end discovered, by the light of a lamp hanging from the ceiling,
that there were several small doors on both sides. They opened one
door after another and came to a room with no other doorway. The light
of the outer world came through the window. Through this they hurried
on and coming to a second iron door, passed through and found
themselves in a large court surrounded by high walls. By climbing the
wall they saw from its summit the vale of Szamos stretched below them;
and then they discovered a footpath leading from the wall into the
forest below. Down they ran breathlessly. There first the two men
dared look at each other. Clement thought he still heard the wild,
clear voice of the demon-woman, the growl of the panther and death-cry
of the Wallachian.
"We have done well to take this path," said Zulfikar. "For we never
could have found our way back without a guide over the way we came.
From here we shall easily make our way."
They now found two woodcutters who were fastening their rafts to the
bank.
"What is this castle?" asked Clement.
"Where? What castle?"
Clement looked behind him to point out the castle, and lo, there was
nothing that could be seen to resemble a castle even from afar. One
rock was like another. The peasants laughed aloud.
"It is better not to say anything," said Zulfikar; "evidently they do
not know what is in this vicinity. From the outside there is nothing
to be seen but unhewn stone; the bushes cover the very opening that we
came through."
Then they asked their way; and turned back to Marisel, where they did
not stay to be questioned about Sanga-moarta's absence but mounted
their horses and rode off.
Zulfikar would have been glad if Clement would have gone with him to
Banfy-hunyad, but when he learned that this place was under the
direction of Dionysius Banfy he started off alone to collect the tax,
although the Lieutenant gave him the comforting assurance that he
could count on blows there more surely than on tribute.
* * * * *
Clement gave Ladislaus Csaki exact information of what he had seen and
received as a reward for his discovery a hundred gold pieces, with the
green boots thrown in.
Zulfikar had a more unusual experience. When he reached Nagy-Varad he
gave Ali Pasha the tax collected and told him what he had learned of
Azraele. Corsar Bey had stolen her from Ali Pasha when she was
thirteen years old. Ali had offered two hundred gold pieces as reward
to the man who should bring him information of the abode of his
favorite, so Zulfikar came away with the purse of two hundred gold
pieces when he left the Pasha. The Aga over Zulfikar learning of this,
found a pretext to bind the deserter and sentenced him to a hundred
blows on the soles of his feet unless he bought off every blow with a
ducat.
"That I will not do," replied Zulfikar, "but I will put in your hands
the present that Dionysius Banfy sent Ali Pasha when I tried to impose
a tax in his name. You give this little box to the Pasha and I wager
that he will reward you with enough for your lifetime."
The Aga caught at the offer greedily, received the carefully sealed
box which Zulfikar should have given over to the Pasha, and presented
it with the following words:
"See, most gracious Pasha. Here I bring you that princely present
which Dionysius Banfy sent you instead of the tax."
Ali Pasha took the box and when he had cut the string, broken the seal
and raised the cover, there fell out on his caftan a dried-up grey
pig's tail, the most fearful insult, the most horrible disgrace, a man
can offer a Turk.
Ali Pasha jumped almost to the ceiling in his anger, threw his turban
on the ground, and gave orders to have the Aga, who stood petrified,
impaled that instant outside the gate.
Zulfikar walked off, his two hundred gold pieces intact.