In the northern part of Moldavia there is an immense Royal forest called Brotschéni, in many parts of which the woodman's axe has never been heard, and the foot of has never trod.
     In the year 1538 the country round was not as beautiful as it is now, neither was it peaceful. The sound of weapons was frequently to be heard in the valleys. The women and children used to fly to the densest parts of the woods, for the terrible words, "The Turks are coming!" were constantly being passed on from village to village.
     The Sultan Soliman was bent on devastating Moldavia, and in spite of his most valiant efforts Prince Petru Raresch had been conquered several times by the enemy. Sutschawa, his capital, was in the hands of the Turks, who, on their march to Piatra, were burning, pillaging, and massacring all they could lay hands on. Poor Moldavia was being ravaged in the most terrible manner, and all that could not be transported was ruined by the invaders.
     The Turks knew neither pity nor mercy; they strangled the children and massacred all the women they did not wish to carry off, and, indeed, death was far preferable to the poor women than slavery under the Mussulman. The whole country presented a pitiable aspect; no domestic animals were to be seen, and there was neither corn nor hay anywhere.
     With the remnant of his conquered army, Petru Raresch had to leave Piatra and get to Jesle by the Bistritza, as he knew that there would be provisions there for the soldiers and horses. The Prince had sent his three children to the fortress of Ciceu, but the Princess Helena had refused to be separated from him.
     "The Turks will not take me," she said, "and I shall not leave you unless my presence should prove dangerous for you."
     A little farther on than Hangu, in the church of Calugareni, they had taken refuge. This little church is sheltered by a colossal rock which, so the legend runs, the devil once took from the summit of the Tschachlau, intending to stop the course of the Bistritza with it. Just as he had lifted the great rock and was about to hurl it into the river, the cock began to crow, and the Evil Spirit, fearing the daylight, turned to fly, and the rock fell from his hand into the place where it now stands. Under the shadow of this huge rock, then, the Princess Helena was waiting, all eyes and ears for any news. Her delicate face changed colour frequently, and her nostrils quivered with excitement and anxiety. "Oh! what a disgrace it is to be conquered!" she exclaimed to the old monk with the snow-white beard, who had approached her.
     "There is nothing irreparable save death," he replied, calmly.
     "Nothing irreparable!" repeated the young wife, violently, "when we are completely lost! Why, perhaps this very day, old man as you are, you may be pierced through the heart with a yatagan!"
     "That is quite possible!" was the quiet reply.
     The gallop of a body of horse was heard on the rocky slope, and in another minute Raresch appeared, tearing along at full speed,