by Adele B.
The sounds of cow-bells in the distance put an end to her daydreaming. The herds were returning from the fields, and evening had crept in almost unheeded.
She was slowly descending the steep slope, trying hard not to break into an involuntary, irrepressible trot. In winter, this was a children's paradise, with sledges swishing by and happy small voices and laughter on the fresh snow.
But now the evening was warm and scented, and the cherry trees were shedding their petals in swirls of white, as a sort of reminder of winters past. Instead of laughter and joy, you could her now horses neighing, children crying, pans and pots clattering against each other. A Gipsy camp had sprung up near the steep path. Cursed to never find a place, to never rest, they stopped here for two weeks every year, before continuing on their never-ending journey.
As she saw them, Livia felt a little fearful. Ever since childhood she had been terribly afraid of Gypsies; the old women of the village used to put the fear of God into unruly kids by telling them horror stories about little ones kidnapped by these wanderers.
It was too late to turn back now, she had reached the end of the footpath and now she had to pass through the Gipsy camp.
As if reading her mind, an old Gypsy woman appeared as if from nowhere; she seemed as old as Time itself, with lined cheeks, a toothless mouth and long white braids. She had seen Livia slowly and carefully pick her way down the slope, and had been surprised that such a city lady, looking like an aristocrat, was lost in such a place. She hurried towards the girl, hoping for a penny.
“Good evening, my beauty! Let me tell you all about your fortune!” said the old Gipsy in a very straightforward manner.
“Love, luck, the future?”
“Nothing, thank you very much” Livia tried to avoid the old hag, fearing somehow that her father would find out about it and be very cross with her. He had always said palmistry and other forms of divination were just superstitions, seeing that only God himself could decide or know any person's fate in advance.
But the Gipsy wouldn't take no for an answer; she drowned the young girl in a sea of hurried, barely understandable words. Her face was rapidly changing, from naïve imploring to a kind of ominous threat. Taken by storm, the young girl agreed.
The Gipsy sat on a boulder and took Livia's hand, ready to sell her the same old story she told every young girl. She was well aware that peasants despised and feared the Gypsies and their nomadic way of life; she and her fellow-tribesmen knew all this, and in turn felt only pity and compassion for the slave existence the peasants lived, forever tied to the ground and at the whim of the aristocrats who had powers of life and death over them. So every time a peasant woman came to see her, she would predict a glittering future, letting her drown in her own illusions. She was getting ready to tell Livia the same old story, but something stopped her.
Taking her left hand, she gazed at it long, in silence, with an unsettling feeling. It was not the common destiny of any peasant woman that she was seeing there, but something far more strange and painful – perhaps too painful for such a frail delicate person to bear.
She gazed deep into the beautiful face, into those pure eyes as yet unprepared to suffer and to cry; she hesitated. Then she just whispered; “You will be loved, young lady! Oh, and how you will be loved!”
Livia had noticed the abrupt change on the woman's face. She saw herself as if from afar, in the evening shadows, her hand held by this old ugly hag. Suddenly frightened, she got up from the boulder and looked all around, hoping that no one from the village had seen her. Hurriedly, she took a precious pin from her hair and pushed it into the old woman's hand. The Gipsy took it, with a pity-filled gaze.
Livia hurried home. She went in, greeted her parents and announced she didn't want supper as she was not hungry. Sad and tired, she then hid in her room. She prepared for a troubled, agitated sleep, a sleep as strange as the day just passed with two ugly faces haunted her dreams.
One was the burly man in the elegant carriage; the other, the old Gipsy woman who seemed to be telling her, again and again, in a pity-filled way
“You will be loved! Oh, and how you will be loved!”
Chapter 2
On the narrowly winding mountain road a long line of horsemen silently rode in twos, the rhythmic sound of hooves the only thing breaking the deep silence. They had left Vienna more than a month ago, and for the last three weeks had been travelling through Transylvania, with frequent stops in the Magyar noblemen's castles. The apparent purpose of this voyage should have been trophy bear hunting, as the country's specimens were renowned all through the Empire – but the real reason was in fact to observe the local situation and to assess the Imperial subjects' state of mind.
“So – how do you find Transylvania?” asked the Archduke Albert, gazing benignly at his aide and friend, young count Edward.
“It's absolutely charming, Sire – I could swear that all during the night and in the early morning these meadows are filled with dancing fairies and gnomes! It would be the perfect place for them!” answered the youth, gazing all around him.
Edward's words brought a smile to the Archduke's lips. He had discovered the romanticism hidden in his young friend's bosom a long time ago, and he had an almost paternal kind of affection for him. The young, penniless orphan who, although a Count by birth, had been forced to join the military school from an early age, had not been hardened or embittered by this difficult life. He was faultlessly accomplishing his duty as a man of arms, but few of his friends knew that he also wrote poems, composed music, painted and even played the piano. That was the secret reason why this Transylvanian expedition was a real gift for the secret artistic side of the delicate youth, and the Archduke was very pleased by all this. The scenery was extremely varied, passing in the blink of an eye from dizzying ravines and forbidding mountain crags to calm, luminous meadows filled with wild orchids over which fluttered riots of multicoloured butterflies. This land had everything a poet, a painter or a musician might ever need for his creations.
“At what time will we reach the castle Sire?” asked Edward. His whole body felt numb. This difficult mountain road with its steep climbs and abrupt descents, the continuous need to guide his stallion carefully lest they both end up at the bottom of a ravine, made him really tired. He just wanted to rest, to change his dirty, dusty clothes, to lie in a soft bed.
How he envied the Archduke! The much older man seemed still fresh, unaffected by the long voyage. Thankfully, Edward thought, they had planned to stop for more than a week at one of the local Grofs' castles, where he would at last have a chance to rest and maybe even take part in a hunt or two.
“Not earlier than midday, I think. We are expected there, but first the local villagers are waiting for us. From there it's less than half an hour's ride to the castle.”
They silently rode on. The rest of the men were quiet also, as if not willing to disturb the enchanted charm of these meadows and forests. After a time, the small dirt path turned into a stone road, and the forest ended abruptly as the valley opened in front of a village. A large crowd was gathered there.
From the top of the hill, Edward could see that both the people and the houses were in pitiful condition. Compared to the beauty and magnificence of the surrounding scenery, the village seemed even smaller than it was with its modest, small houses hidden behind some sort of wooden fences.
“Judging by the festive popular costumes these people wear, it seems a warm welcome awaits us!” Edward observed as they drew closer to the noisy crowd.
“On the contrary, I would say these peasants have been ordered to come here by the authorities! You will see their faces soon – they are filled with hostility, if not downright hatred! The only advantage for them will be that by coming here they escaped another day of work on the Grof's lands!”
Edward felt quite content with this answer. He was very tired and sort of hoping this forced welcome would end as soon as possible, so that they could go on to the castle.
The noisy crowd fell silent all of a sudden on seeing them. The procession of men and horses immediately calmed the noisy children, who had been running all around despite their mothers' best efforts to keep them in place. They were dressed cleanly, but the clothes were ill-fitting, the hats bigger than their little heads, the shirtsleeves too long, the pants too large – it was obvious these clothes had been borrowed from older brothers.
The men had been gathered in small groups, talking amongst themselves. Now they all huddled together, taking off their hats. The women shyly and quietly took shelter behind them.
The tension in everybody’s faces was obvious; never before had they seen any Austrian in the flesh. They were talking about them daily, putting all their hopes in these far-away people and hoping they would become their defenders against the ruthless exploitation of the Hungarian Grofs. Sometimes, when rumours about a possible Austro-Hungarian union reached these far realms, they hated them fiercely. But now for the first time they had the chance to see people who could decide upon their fate at the blink of an eye.
They were intently studying the old Archduke, the Empire's second most important man after the Emperor himself. His aquiline, aristocratic features filled with the pride of belonging to a great Empire, he was riding proudly and gazing upon the gathered peasants with a majestic, direct and arrogant look.
He was the embodiment of Austria itself.
The same thing could not be said about the young officer riding next to him. He probably had an important military rank too, otherwise he wouldn't have been right next to the Archduke – but his gaze was not disdainful, rather curious and compassion-filled. And this was more painful than the insulting, haughty look the old man had cast upon them. That shadow of pity they could fittingly see on the youth's face crushed them more than if the whole Austrian army had attacked at the same time. They could well face the Archduke's arrogance – but felt humiliated and shattered by this compassionate young man with blue eyes and windswept hair.
Edward lowered his eyes– he had met the sharp eyes of an old peasant and all of a sudden understood he had betrayed himself, had insulted these people unwittingly, by his unwise gaze.
Yet he could not help it; it was the way he always reacted when confronted with injustice. He understood now that his unsolicited pity might have offended these poor and yet still proud people.
A slight commotion interrupted his thoughts.
The crowd had parted to let through a white-haired, but still youthful-looking man and an amazingly beautiful young girl. Both the Count and the Archduke were jolted at her sight. In the middle of this sad, lean and hungry-looking crowd where even the young people seemed resigned and tired, this angelic-faced girl was something else altogether.
She was approaching holding a tray in her hands. Her walk was airy, slightly aristocratic in the festive peasant clothes – and her delicate face was surrounded by jet-black curls of hair reaching to her waist.
The long-fingered, white hands made a powerful contrast to the large, calloused hands of the peasants all around her, with their crooked fingers and coarse palms deformed by endless hours of land work. Her red-lipped mouth was slightly opened in a smile, her white teeth shining like precious pearls.
“Good morning and welcome! My name is Livia, and it is my duty to translate your words, seeing that I am the only one who speaks German around here! Please be so kind as to partake of this bread and salt with us, as is the custom of the land!” she continued, in a slightly shaky voice.
After she had finished her little speech, the man next to her, who introduced himself as the village Mayor, began a short address. He had difficulty in finding his words and one could see he was in the grip of strong emotions; it was the first time in his life he had had the occasion to address himself to such important guests. The Archduke's cutting gaze was not helping him at all; he mechanically continued to recite his words, sweat pouring on his reddish face. He tried to look towards the gentler-seeming Count, but this one's eyes were turned away.
The Count was watching Livia, as she translated into perfect German the tortuous words of the Mayor's speech. He was bewitched. Now that she was near, he felt as if stricken by lightning at the sight of her beautiful green eyes – the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Ever since they had left Vienna, travelling over mountain and vale, green had been the predominating colour – but it was only now he became aware of all its subtle nuances, in the light of these magnificent eyes adorning a flawless face.
Livia was flustered by his intense gaze. The way this young gentleman was looking at her made her feel an intense emotion. She had the clear impression his gaze was about to change her life forever. So much gentleness and so much tenderness exuded from his blue eyes, from the soft lips curving in a benign smile. Lowering her gaze, she took in the supple, powerful body in its military uniform. A military uniform! Livia was now angry with herself – how could she have fallen into such a trap, how could she have permitted her heart to beat faster, even for a minute - how could she have felt that sensation of endless, dizzying spinning no other man had ever awakened in her until now ?! There was nothing wrong in these feelings, she knew it – sooner or later all this falling-in-love was bound to happen to her too – and she somehow impatiently waited for it. But not with an Austrian officer! This could not be, should not be!
She felt a deep-seated hostility for both Austrians and Hungarians, and her father the priest, who had educated her in this spirit ever since she was a child, would not permit anything of the sort! She could not allow herself to be moved by this young officer's beauty. She could only hope no one had noticed the slight tremble in her voice!
While Livia was carefully translating the Mayor's speech and trying not to miss any words, Edward had eyes only for her. The village women, greedily observing the beautiful young officer, had immediately understood; and so had Catrina, with a twinge of anxiety in her heart. That young man, openly drowning in Livia's eyes in front of the whole village, seemed to have arrived at a decision – but regardless of what the foreigner might have in mind, she would never allow it! Livia was naive and vulnerable, not at all knowledgeable about life, delicate as a precious porcelain vase; one wrong move, and her life would have been wrecked forever, lost in countless sufferings. Luckily she, Catrina, who had already passed through life and partaken of its bitter taste, who had been hit in hard and never-to-be-forgotten ways by the cruelty of fate, was there -ready to protect her and watch over her! She saw her husband – always absent-minded, saluting the guests. She could not rely on him at all – she was the only one able to decide her daughter's fate.
A tall, straight man in a cassock came forward and introduced himself as the village priest, greeting them without any trace of enthusiasm.
The Count watched him carefully as he delivered his little speech, noticing a slight resemblance between him and the girl – in the proud way he held himself, in the delicate way he walked, as if not touching the ground.
He had an interesting face, intelligently ascetic; one could see this was a man used to explore the mysteries of existentially deep and impossible questions – and to try and find answers, too. Animosity was obvious on his face as he was talking, but Edward thought he knew the reason for this. The law had forbidden Romanians to build stone churches- only wooden ones, easier to bring down, were allowed.
From the crowd’s slow movement, he gathered the priest’s speech had ended the ceremony. It was time for the Archduke’s short answer, and then his tired and mightily bored suite would head towards the castle.
“Your Excellency, would you mind if we stayed with these people for a few hours more? The countryside is beautiful and their hospitality- warm and heartfelt; I thought it would be a good idea” Edward said hopefully.
“Very well, Edward, I‘ll send one of my people to the castle to announce we won’t arrive at midday; and I’ll also ask the Mayor to prepare a rustic lunch on the grass, so to say – a spontaneous and natu
ral thing!” answered the Archduke, gazing benignly upon his young protégé. He was an old man now and had seen enough things in his life to be able to understand the souls and hearts of men. He had well grasped that it wasn’t a sudden interest in nature which had prompted Edward to act thus, but rather the light in those deep green eyes.
The thirty soldiers in the escort received the Archduke’s decision with deep though unvoiced contentment. Although part of the Empire’s army now, in their souls they still were the same simple men who had been recruited from simple small villages a few years ago. They belonged to different nations – Slovenians, Ukrainians, Croatians, Poles – but they all were homesick and longing to see once more their beloved villages, their modest houses and the people they cared for.
They sat on the grass and, not able to speak one word of Romanian, just smiled and nodded when the young girls studied them covertly while their mothers gazed upon them with benevolence.
A few of the villagers headed for their homes, but others stayed behind to help with the preparations. People were bringing tables and chairs, women hurriedly produced immaculate tablecloths embroidered with roses, children ran every which way, noisy and adorable. The priest and his wife, the Mayor and the Notary as well as members of the more well-to-do families – were in charge of providing the food.
Edward drew closer to Livia, who was smilingly observing the goings-on. “Are you German? You speak the language perfectly!” he said, with a friendly look on his face.
“I am Romanian, and I learned German while studying in Arad” answered Livia, trying not to show the turmoil in her heart.
