The Golden Age in Transylvania Part 18

"One thing more," said the Aga to Clement, eager to get off at any price. "As soon as you get home lay aside those green boots, for if I should see them on your feet again you would get five hundred stripes on the soles of your feet, that you would keep until your wedding day."

Clement agreed to everything in his joy to get away at last, and trotted off toward Gross-Schlatten. His Tartar comrade rode faithfully by his side. From time to time the Lieutenant gave a side glance at his companion and then looked away quickly, for as the Turk was cross-eyed Clement never felt sure which way he was looking. And all the time he was considering how easily he could dupe the Tartar, a thought that made him smile to himself, blink and nod with satisfaction.

"You will not play any tricks on me, Lieutenant," said the Tartar, unexpectedly, and in the best of Hungarian, evidently reading these thoughts on his face.

Clement almost fell off his horse with fear, unable to comprehend what fiend he could be to read a man's thoughts on his face, and speak Hungarian in spite of being a Tartar.

"You need not rack your brains any more about me," said the Turk, calmly. "I am a Hungarian deserter once in the service of Emerich Bala.s.sa. I helped seize and imprison Corsar Bey, and when the Hungarians began to pursue me for it I turned Turk. Now with the Prophet's aid I shall yet be Pasha, so don't exert yourself to get the better of me, for be a.s.sured you are dealing with an old fox."

Clement scratched his head in perplexity, and attended by the deserter, much against his will concluded his official questions with the announcement of the penny tax which the people all received with so much favor that most of them paid it over to the Tartar at once.

But n.o.body had seen anything of the panther; and had it not been for their respect for the green boots with their tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs they would probably have laughed in his face when the Lieutenant put that question.

There was still one small Wallachian village, Marisel, far away in the mountains. Beyond that began the territorial jurisdiction of Banfy, and the Lieutenant's authority was at an end. There too the deserter followed him.

CHAPTER XI

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 was.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sing a human habitation. The rocks in the way and the streams crossing at different points made it almost impa.s.sable. 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 ap.r.o.ns, gold earrings, necklaces of silver coins and high-heeled red boots, formed an agreeable contrast to the wild, defiant-looking men, with their high c.o.c.ked 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 superst.i.tion a.s.signs 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 gra.s.s-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 G.o.dless 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 gra.s.ses 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?"