"Would your ladyship believe,"—so Todor[24] RubÁn began his story of Juon the strong,—"sitting here as you do by the fireside, accustomed from your birth to every elegant luxury, with a particular servant always ready to fly obediently to accomplish each separate command, and with different glasses and porcelain for each several course at meals—would your ladyship believe, I ask, that there are people in this world who know not what it is to have a roof above their heads when they go to sleep, who would not recognize a bed or a dinner service if they saw them, nay, who often are in want of bread—and yet, for all that, are happy?

"And yet such people live quite close to us. We need not think of the savage inhabitants of Oceania,—we can see enough of them and to spare in this very place. Your ladyship can hear from your balcony the melancholy songs of their pastoral flutes, especially of an evening, when the milch-goats are returning from the deep valleys.

"The herdsman here never sleeps beneath a roof either summer or winter; every spring he counts the goats of his master's herds and the half of every increase belongs to him; nobody enquires how he lives there among his herds in the lofty mountain-passes, how he defends himself against hurricanes and snow-storms, yes, and against the wild beasts of the forest, the bears and wolves—nobody troubles his head about all that.

"Such a goatherd is that same Juon whom your ladyship has learnt to know. Perhaps we shall hear something more about him some other time, for his life has been very romantic; now, however, I will only tell you of a single episode therein:

"There once lived near here in the district of Vlaskutza, a rich pakular[25] who had scraped together a lot of gold out of a mining venture at Verespatak, and therefore went by the name of wealthy Misule.

"He had an only daughter, Mariora by name,—and has your ladyship any idea of what Roumanian beauties are? A sculptor could not devise a nobler model. So beautiful was she that her fame had spread through the Hungarian plain as far as Arad, and whenever great folks from foreign lands came to see Gyenstar and Brivadia they would make a long circuit and come to Vlaskucza in order to rest at the house of old Misule, where the finest prospect of all was a look into the eyes of Mariora.

"This wonderously beautiful maiden loved the poor goatherd Juon, who possessed nothing in the world but his sheepskin pelisse and his alpenstock; him she loved and him alone. Wealthy old Misule would naturally have nothing to say to such a match; he had in his eye an influential friend of his, a gentleman and village elder in the county of FÉhervÁr, one Gligor Tobicza,—to him he meant to give his daughter. Reports were spread that Juon was a wizard. It was Misule's wife who fastened this suspicion upon him, because he had succeeded in bewitching her daughter. She said among other things, that he understood the language of the brute beasts, that he had often been seen speaking with wolves and bears, and that when he spread out his shaggy sheepskin, he sat down at one end of it and a bear at the other. There was this much of truth in the tale, that once when he was tending his flocks Juon heard a painful groaning in the hollow of a rock, and, venturing in, perceived lying in one corner a she-bear who, mortally injured in some distant hunt, had contrived to drag its lacerated body hither to die. Beside the old she-bear lay a little suckling cub. The mother dying before his very eyes, Juon had compassion on the desolate cub, took it under his protection, and carried it to a milch-goat, who suckled it. The little wild beast thrived upon the milk of the tame animal and, softened by human fellowship, grew up much attached to its master. Bears, I may tell your ladyship, are not bloodthirsty by nature. Henceforth the bear went forth with the herdsman and the herds, helped to drive the goats together of an evening, and enlivened the long dreary days by turning somersaults—an art at which bears excel. At night it slept by Juon's side and made itself cosey by burying its snout in his bosom. When meal-time came, the bear sat down beside Juon, for he knew that every second slice of cheese would be his. He also fetched fire-wood to put under the pot in which the maize-pottage was boiling. Then, too, he explored the woods in search of wild honey and brought back his booty to share it with Juon. When it was very hot he carried his pelisse after him, a pelt more or less made very little difference to him. Juon had nobody to speak to but the bear, and if a man speaks quite seriously to the beasts they get to understand him at last. Moreover, in moments of ill temper the bear had learnt to recognize that Juon's fists were no less vigorous than his own paws, so that he had no temptation to be ungrateful.

"This, then, was the man beloved by Mariora.

"In our part of the country, my lady, there is an original popular custom, the maiden-market.

"In the highlands of Bihar stands the rocky bluff of Geina, which grows green, like every other Transylvanian height, as soon as it is cleansed from snow. There I first met Juon, many years ago. He stood there on the mountain summit the live-long day, blowing on his alpenstock, while the bear was plucking strawberries in the valley below and guarding the goats, not from running away, but from other wild beasts. The prospect from this spot is really sublime. In one direction you can see the mountain-chain of Vulcani, in the other the environs of Klausenberg and the Gyalian Alps. But westwards stretches the great Hungarian plain, whose misty expanse loses itself against the horizon.

"On a certain day of the year things are very lively at Geina. In the evening of the first Sunday after St. John Baptist's day the ginger-bread-bakers come thither from Rezbanya and Topanfalu with their horses dragging loads of honey-cakes, and barrels full of meal and brandy, and pitch their tents in the forest-clearing. On that Sunday the highlands are full of merry folks, and the maiden-market is held there.

"From near and far repair thither the mothers and their marriageable daughters, all tricked out with their dowries ready in the shape of strings of gold and silver coins round their necks, with bright variegated garments at their horses' sides, and stuffed pillows and painted pitchers on the saddles in front of them. All these things they unpack and arrange in rows in front of the tents, just as at an ordinary fair; and then the purchasers come along, jaunty, connubially-inclined young fellows, who inspect the dowries, engage the wenches in conversation, and chaffer and haggle and go away again if they cannot come to terms. Many of the girls are kept back, others are given up to the first bidder, and when once a couple is mated they are escorted to the tune of lively flutes and bagpipes to the first Kalugye,[26] or pastor, who sanctifies the union according to the religion of the spouses.

"Your ladyship laughs at this custom, yet it is capable of a very natural explanation. The inhabitants of these Alpine regions live necessarily far away from one another—how else could they tend their herds?—even the nearest neighbours being a good stiff half hour's walk apart. So the young girls stay at home, and the young fellows only see them once a year—at the maiden-market of Geina.

"Now, of course such a famous beauty as Mariora had no need to go all the way to the Geina fair in search of a husband, especially as one had already been chosen for her who brought with him all the pride of riches. But her father Misule would not on any account have neglected the opportunity of exhibiting his daughter, during the pilgrimage to Geina, as the most lovely girl of the district; and his wife could not have lived unless she had hung out Mariora's gold-embroidered shift in front of the tent and haughtily sent at least ten suitors about their business.

"Gligor Tobicza, coming all the way from Rezpatak, appeared at the fair at the same time, with twelve high-backed horses and six Gipsy musicians, ribbons and coloured kerchiefs fluttering from every horse and every cap. The comrades drank together and then had a little rumpus also. Tobicza broke the heads of a few of the more uproarious spirits, and then peace was restored again, and the general good humour was higher than ever—only the bride remained sad.

"Suddenly it occurred to Tobicza that it would be nice to get a kiss from Mariora. But the girl repulsed him: 'I am not your wife yet,' she cried.

"'Yet if Juon were to ask for you, I suppose you would not say no?'

"The girl honestly confessed that she would not.

"At this Tobicza was mad with rage. 'Let him come hither then, if he loves you,' cried he, 'let him tear you away from me if he be the better man. I will strike him dead with this—see!' And drawing a long goat-skin bag out of his girdle, the bottom of which was choke full of ducats, and whirling it round his head like a morning-star[27] he turned forestwards and roared: 'Come hither, tattered Juon, thou ragged dog! 'Tis now maiden-market day if you want to buy Mariora! Come forth thou cowardly hound and let me beat you to death! I'll fell you to the earth with my ducats. I'll break your head with my gold money.' And the whole crowd laughed at and loudly applauded these witticisms.

"But just as he was raging most furiously, a great roaring suddenly arose from the direction of the forest,—whereupon the crowd rushed away from their tents to their horses, overturning barrels and trunks as they went, the women screaming and the men cursing, and all with one voice exclaiming: 'the bear is coming!' 'Juon is coming with his bear!'

"That was enough for every one. Only the most determined sportsmen care about tackling a bear in the open, for even when mortally wounded the beast is quite capable of taking his revenge. In an instant every soul rushed headlong from the summit of Geina into the roads below, leaving behind bride, dowry and drinking booth; so that when the bear and Juon leaped out of the juniper bushes there was nobody left on Geina. Nobody, that is, but Mariora, who did not fly with the fugitives, but hid herself in the tent.

"Tobicza had headed the race, but as his legs were heavy with the mead he had drunk, he threw away his big bag of gold to lighten his limbs and prevent Juon from overtaking him. But Juon, snatching it up, whirled it round like a sling and threw it with all his might after his rival, exclaiming: 'There's your money, big voice! take it and buy a wife with it. You are nothing at all without it. But I am still Juon, though I have only an axe in my hands.'

"Then he went up to Mariora, kissed and embraced her, and asked her if she would be his bride and go away and live with him in the forest. And when she said: 'Yes,' he kissed her again and took her with him into the free forest without once looking back at the dowry lying abandoned there with all its gold and glitter. In his eyes only Mariora was of gold, nothing else.

"The bear meanwhile made some little havoc in a mild sort of way, among the honey-cakes, but he did no other damage.

"And I can assure your ladyship that this wife who has nothing in the world but her husband, but that husband all her own—is even now very happy."