Adrift in Pacific and Other Great Adventures – 17 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
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bound up with that of the old beech-tree which grew in the bastion to the right of the enclosure. Since the departure of Rodolphe de Gortz, the people of the village, and more especially the shepherd Frik, had observed it—this beech-tree had lost one of its main branches every year. There were eighteen from the first fork when Baron Rodolphe was seen for the last time on the platform of the keep, and now the tree had only three. Consequently every branch that fell meant a year less in the castle’s life. The fall of the last would mean the final dissolution; and then on the plateau of Orgall the remains of the Castle of the Carpathians would be sought in vain.
Evidently this was but one of those legends which spring up so readily in Roumanian imagination. In the first place it remained to be proved that this beech-tree did really lose one of its branches a year, although Frik did not hesitate to assert that it did, he who never lost sight of it while his flock pastured in the meadows of the Syl. Nevertheless, from the highest to the lowest of the people of Werst, none doubted that the castle had but three years to live, for only three branches could now be counted on the tutelary tree.
Thus it was that the shepherd had started on his return, to the village with the important news when there occurred the incident of the telescope.
Important news, very important news in fact! Smoke had appeared above the donjon! That which his eyes alone had not been able to notice, Frik Lad distinctly seen with the pedlar’s telescope. It was no vapour but real smoke which had risen into the clouds! And yet the castle was deserted. For a long time no one had entered the gate, which was doubtless shut, nor crossed the drawbridge, which was doubtless up. If it were inhabited it could only be by supernatural beings. But what use could spirits have for a fire in the rooms of the keep? Was it a fire in a room? Was it a kitchen fire? Really it was inexplicable.
Frik hurried his sheep along the road; at his voice the dogs urged the flock up the rising track, the dust of which had been laid by the evening moisture.
A few peasants, delayed in the fields, greeted him as he passed, and he scarcely replied to them. And consequently there was much uneasiness, for if you would avoid evil influences it is not enough to say “Good evening” to a shepherd, but the shepherd must say it to you. And Frik did not appear much inclined to do so, as he hurried on with his haggard eyes, his curious gait, and his excited gestures. The wolves and the bears might have walked off with half his flock without his noticing it.
The first who learnt the news was Judge Koltz. From afar Frik saw him and shouted,
“There is a fire at the castle, master!”
“What do you say?”
“I say what there is.”
“Have you gone mad?”
And how could a fire break out in such a heap of old stones? As well assert that Negoi, the highest peak of the Carpathians, had been devoured by flames. It would have been no more absurd.
“You suppose that the castle is on fire?” asked Master Koltz.
“If it is not on fire, it smokes.”
“It is some vapour.”
“No; it is smoke. Come and see!”
And they went into the middle of the main road of the village; near the terrace, from which the castle could be observed.
When they got there Frik held out the telescope to Master Koltz.
Evidently the use of this instrument was no more known to him than it had been to his shepherd.
“What is that?” he said.
“A machine I bought for you for two florins, master, and it is well worth four.”
“Of whom?”
“A pedlar.”
“And what is it to do?”
“Put it to your eye, look straight at the castle, and you will see.”
The judge levelled the telescope at the castle and looked through it for some time.
Yes! There was certainly smoke rising from one of the chimneys of the donjon. At this moment it was being blown away by the breeze and floating up the flank of the mountain.
“Smoke!” said Master Koltz, astonished. But now he and Frik had been joined by Miriota and the forester, Nic Deck, who had been indoors for some time.
“What is the use of this?” asked the young man, taking the telescope.
“To see with afar off,” said the shepherd.
“Are you joking?”
“Joking? Hardly an hour ago I saw you coming down the road into Werst. You and—”
He did not finish his sentence. Miriota had blushed and lowered her pretty eyes. After all, there was no harm in an honest young girl going to meet her betrothed.
Both of them took the famous telescope, and looked through it at the castle.
Meanwhile half a dozen neighbours had arrived on the terrace, and, after many questions as to what it all meant, took a look through the telescope in turn.
“A smoke! A smoke at the castle!” said one.
“Perhaps the lightning has struck the donjon!” said another.
“Has there been any thunder?” asked Master Koltz, addressing Frik.
“Not a sound for a week,” said the shepherd.
And the good folks could not have been more startled if a crater had opened on the summit of Retyezat to give passage to the subterranean vapours.
CHAPTER III.
The village of Werst is of so little importance that most maps do not indicate its position. In administrative rank it is even below its neighbour called Vulkan, from the name of that portion of the Plesa range on which both are picturesquely situated.
At the present time, when the opening up of the coal field has increased the importance of the towns of Petroseny, Livadzel, and others, a few miles off, neither Vulkan nor Werst has received the least advantage from their proximity to a great industrial centre. What the villages were fifty years ago—what they will doubtless be half a century hence—they are still; and, according to Elisée Reclus, a good half of the Vulkan population consists of “people engaged in watching the frontier—custom house officers, gendarmes, revenue officers, and quarantine attendants.” Omit the gendarmes and the revenue officers, add a larger proportion of agriculturists, and you will have the population of Werst, consisting of a few hundred inhabitants.
It is a street, this village, nothing but a wide street, the uphill nature of which makes the ascent and descent laborious enough along the road. It serves as the natural thoroughfare between the Wallachian and Transylvanian frontier. Through it pass the cattle and sheep and pigs, the dealers in fresh provisions, fruits, and cereals, the few travellers who venture through the defile instead of taking the Kolosvar and Maros valley railways.
Nature has assuredly generously endowed the district between the mountains of Bihar, Retyezat, and Paring. Rich in the fertility of its soil, it is also rich in its underground wealth. There are salt-mines at Thorda with an annual output of more than twenty thousand tons: Mount Parajd, measuring seven kilometres in circumference at its dome, is entirely formed of chloride of sodium; the mines of Torotzko yield lead, galena, mercury, and especially iron, the beds of which were worked in the tenth century; at Vayda Hunyad are mines whose products can be turned into steel of superior quality; there are coal mines easily worked in the upper strata of the lacustrine valleys