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.