The Golden Age in Transylvania Part 19

"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 s.h.i.+fts 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 b.u.t.tonhole. No matter what beautiful songs the girl sang as he pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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 superst.i.tious 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.

"h.e.l.lo, 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, s.h.i.+vered 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.]