{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_37286/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_37286","id":"gutenberg_37286","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37286","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Hungary -- Social life and customs -- Fiction","J\u00f3kai, M\u00f3r, 1825-1904 -- Translations into English","Short stories"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Dr. J\u00f3kai M\u00f3r]\n\n\n\n\nTALES FROM J\u00d3KAI\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE HUNGARIAN BY R. NISBET BAIN\n\n_WITH COMPLETE BIOGRAPHY AND PHOTOGRAVURE PORTRAIT OF MAURUS J\u00d3KAI_\n\n[Illustration: SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE]\n\nTHIRD EDITION.\n\nLONDON\nJARROLD & SONS, 10 & 11, WARWICK LANE, E.C.\n\n[_All Rights Reserved_]\n\n\n\n\n_Dr. Maurus J\u00f3kai's Novels_\n\n_The Green Book_\n_Black Diamonds_\n_Pretty Michal_\n_The Lion of Janina_\n_A Hungarian Nabob_\n_Dr. Dumany's Wife_\n_The Poor Plutocrats_\n_The Nameless Castle_\n_Debts of Honor_\n_The Day of Wrath_\n_Eyes Like the Sea_\n_Halil the Pedlar (The White Rose)_\n_'Midst the Wild Carpathians_\n_The Slaves of the Padishah_\n\n\n\n\nJARROLD & SONS'\nNEW AND RECENT FICTION.\n\n\n=For Love and Ransom.=\n\nBy ESME STUART. Author of \"Harum Scarum,\" &c. Illustrated by HAROLD\nPIFFARD. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\n\n=A Romance of Tennyson-Land.=\n=Over Stony Ways.=\n\nBy EMILY M. BRYANT. With Notes by T.\u00a0F. LOCKYER, B.A. Also Six Full-page\nPhotographs of Somersby and other Bits of Tennyson-Land. 6_s._\n\n\n='Neath the Hoof of the Tartar; or, The Scourge of God.=\n\nBy BARON NICOLAS JOSIKA--the Sir Walter Scott of Hungary. Translated by\nSELINA GAYE. With Photogravure Portrait of Author, and Preface by R.\nNISBET BAIN. 6_s._\n\n\n=Half in Jest.=\n\nBy W. CLINTON ELLIS, Author of \"Our Family Portraits.\" 6_s._\n\n\n=More Tales from Tolstoi.=\n\nTranslated from the Russian by R. NISBET BAIN. With Biography brought up\nto date, and Photogravure Portrait of COUNT LEO TOLSTOI. 6_s._\n\n\n=Tales from Tolstoi.= =(Fourth Edition.)=\n\nTranslated from the Russian by R. NISBET BAIN. With Portrait and\nBiography of COUNT LEO TOLSTOI. 6_s._\n\n\n=Tales from Gorky.= =(Sixth Edition.)=\n\nTranslated from the Russian of MAXIM GORKY by R. NISBET BAIN. With\nPhotogravure Portrait and Biography of Author. 6_s._\n\n\nLondon\nJarrold & Sons\n10 & 11, Warwick Lane, E.C.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nBesides his romances, J\u00f3kai has, from time to time, published volumes of\nshorter stories which, in the opinion of many good Magyar critics,\ncontain some of his most notable work. The present selection will enable\nEnglish readers to judge of the merits of these stories for the first\ntime. It does not profess to be the best selection which might be made.\nMany excellent tales could not be included within its narrow limits;\nothers again, equally good, suit Hungarian rather than British taste.\nBut, anyhow, it claims to be fairly representative, and to give a taste\nof the many widely differing qualities of the most Protean of romancers.\nNumbers I. and IX., for instance, are models of what historical tales\nshould be, and could only have been written by an author gifted with the\nhistorical imagination; Numbers II. and V. are light comic sketches;\nNumber VIII. is a ghost story which Dickens might have written; Numbers\nIII. and IV. are narratives of a grimmer order, with touches of horror\nnot unworthy of the author of \"Pretty Michal;\" Number VI. is a faithful\nand picturesque narrative of social life in old Poland--evidently\nstudied with care; while in Number VII. J\u00f3kai gives full rein to his\nwondrous imagination, and his Pegasus actually carries the reader right\naway to the capital of the lost island of Atlantis!\n\nFinally, a bibliographical note. The earliest in date of these stories\nis Number VII., which was originally published, in 1856, under the title\nof \"Oce\u00e1nia.\" Next in chronological sequence come Numbers I.-IV., which\nare to be found in the collection \"J\u00f3kai M\u00f3r Dekameronja,\" published in\n1858. Number VIII. first appeared in the collection \"A Magyar vil\u00e1gb\u00f3l,\"\n1879; Number V. is taken from \"Humoristicus papirszeletek,\" 1880; Number\nIX. from \"Kis Dekameron,\" 1890; and Number VI. is the first story in the\nvolume entitled, \"K\u00e9tszer Kett\u00f6-negy,\" 1893.\n\nR. NISBET BAIN.\n\n_May, 1904._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n                                               PAGE\n         PREFACE                                  v\n         BIOGRAPHY OF J\u00d3KAI                      ix\n     I.  THE CELESTIAL SLINGERS (1858)            1\n    II.  THE COMPULSORY DIVERSION (1858)         19\n   III.  THE SHERIFF OF CASCHAU (1858)           35\n    IV.  THE JUSTICE OF SOLIMAN (1858)           55\n     V.  LOVE AND THE LITTLE DOG (1880)          71\n    VI.  THE RED STAROSTA (1893)                 74\n   VII.  THE CITY OF THE BEAST (1856)           141\n  VIII.  THE HOSTILE SKULLS (1879)              227\n    IX.  THE BAD OLD TIMES (1890)               244\n\n\n\n\nBIOGRAPHY OF J\u00d3KAI\n\nJ\u00d3KAI M\u00d3R\n\n\nAt the general meeting of the Hungarian Academy on October 17, 1843, the\nsecretary reported that the 100-florin prize for the best drama of the\nyear had been awarded to K\u00e1roly Obernik's _F\u00f6ur \u00e9s p\u00f3r_ (Squire and\nBoor), but that another drama, entitled _Zsido fi\u00fa_ (The Jew Boy), had\nbeen honourably mentioned, and, indeed, in the opinion of one of the\njudges, Joseph Bajza, was scarcely inferior to the prize-play itself.\nThe author of the latter piece was a youth of eighteen, Maurus J\u00f3kai, a\nlaw student at Kecskemet, whose literary essays had already begun to\nattract some notice in the local papers. That name is now one of the\nmost illustrious in Hungary, and one of the best known in Europe.\n\nMaurus J\u00f3kai was born at R\u00e9v-Kom\u00e1rom on February 18, 1825. His father,\nJoseph, a scion of the \u00c1sva branch of the old Calvinist J\u00f3kay family,\nwas a lawyer by profession, but a lawyer who had seen something of the\nworld, and loved art and letters. His mother came of the noble Pulays.\nShe was venerated by her son, and is the prototype of the downright,\nmasterful housewives, with warm hearts, capable heads, and truant sons,\nwho so frequently figure in his pages. Maurus was their third and\nyoungest child and the pet of the whole family. He seems to have been a\nsuper-sensitive, very affectionate lad, always fonder of books than of\ngames, but liking best of all to listen to the innumerable tales his\nfather had to tell of the Napoleonic wars, in which he himself had borne\na humble part, or of the still more marvellous exploits and legends of\nthe old Magyar heroes. It was doubtless from his father that Maurus\ninherited much of his literary and artistic talents.\n\nAt a very early age little Maurus was remarkable for an extraordinarily\nvivid imagination, but this quality, which, at a later day, was to bring\nhim both fame and fortune, made his childhood wretched. Naturally timid,\nhis nervous fancy was perpetually tormenting him. He had a morbid fear\nof being buried alive; old, long-bearded Jews and stray dogs inspired\nhim with dread; his first visit to a day-school, at the age of four, was\na terrifying adventure, though his father went with him. Even now,\nhowever, the child's precocity was prodigious. To him study was no toil,\nbut a passion. His masters could not teach him quickly enough.\n\nIn his twelfth year occurred the first calamity of his life. He was\nsummoned from his studies to the death-bed of his beloved father, a\ncatastrophe which he took so much to heart that he fell seriously ill,\nand for a time his own life was despaired of. He owed his recovery\nentirely to \"my good and blessed sister Esther,\" as he ever afterwards\ncalled her, who nursed him through his illness with a rare and skilful\ndevotion. He recovered but slowly, and for the next five years was\nhaunted by a black melancholy which he endeavoured to combat by the most\nintense application to study. At the Comorn Gymnasium, whither he was\nfirst sent, he had the good fortune to have for his tutor Francis V\u00e1ly,\nsubsequently his brother-in-law, a man of rigid puritan principles,\nprofound learning, and many-sided accomplishments, in every way an\nexcellent teacher, who instructed him in French, English, and Italian,\nand prepared him for college. V\u00e1ly's influence was decidedly bracing,\nand his pupil rewarded his conscientious care with a lifelong gratitude.\nIt was V\u00e1ly, too, who first taught J\u00f3kai the useful virtue of early\nrising. Summer and winter he was obliged to be in his tutor's study at\nfive o'clock every morning. The habit so acquired was never abandoned,\nand is the simplest explanation of J\u00f3kai's extraordinary productivity.\nBy far the greater part of his three hundred volumes has been written\nbefore breakfast.\n\nFrom the Gymnasium of Comorn J\u00f3kai proceeded, in 1841, to the Calvinist\ncollege at P\u00e1p\u00e1. It was here that he fell in with a number of talented\nyoung men of his own age, including that brilliant meteoric genius\nAlexander Pet\u00f6fi, who was presently to reveal himself as one of the\ngreatest lyric poets of the century. The young men founded a mutual\nimprovement society, whose members met regularly to criticise each\nother's compositions, and J\u00f3kai was also one of the principal\ncontributors to the college magazine. Yet curiously enough he displayed\nat this time so much skill as a painter, sculptor, and carver in ivory\nthat many seriously thought he would owe the future fame which every\none already predicted for him rather to his brush and chisel than to his\npen.\n\nIn 1843, his mother sent him to Kecskemet to study jurisprudence, and in\nthe fine, bracing air of the Alf\u00f6ld, or great Hungarian plain, amidst\nmiles of orchards and vineyards, the delicate young student recovered\nsomething like normal health. It was here, too, that he was first\nbrought into contact with the true Magyar folk-life and folk-humour, and\nas he himself expressed it, \"became a man and a Hungarian writer.\"\nForty-nine years later he was to record his impressions of the place in\nthe exquisite tale \"A sarga r\u00f3zsa\" (The Yellow Rose), certainly one of\nthe finest of his later works. It was at Kecskemet, too, as already\nmentioned, that he now wrote his first play, _The Jew Boy_. At the same\ntime he won a considerable local reputation as a portrait-painter.\n\nYielding to the wishes of his friends, J\u00f3kai now resolved to follow his\nfather's profession, and for three years continued to study the law with\nhis usual assiduity at Comorn and Pest. In 1844 he obtained his\narticles, and won his first action. It had needed no small heroism in an\nambitious youth of nineteen to submit to the drudgery of the law after\nsuch a brilliant literary _d\u00e9but_ as the honourable mention of his first\nplay by the Hungarian Academy in a prize competition (though his\nadmirers certainly never will begrudge the time thus spent in a lawyer's\noffice, where he picked up some of his best comical characters, mainly\nof the Swiveller type); but, yielding now to natural bias, J\u00f3kai made up\nhis mind to go to the capital, and try his luck at literature.\nAccordingly, in 1845, the youth (he was barely twenty), undismayed by\nmany previous terrifying examples of misery and ruin, cited _in\nterrorem_ by his apprehensive kinsmen, flitted to Pest with a manuscript\nromance in his pocket. His friend Pet\u00f6fi, who had settled there before\nhim, and was becoming famous, received him with open arms, and\nintroduced him to the young army of _literati_ whom he had gathered\nround him at the Caf\u00e9 Pillwax, as \"a true Frenchman.\" In those days such\na description was the highest conceivable praise. The face of every\nliberty-loving nation was then turned towards France, and thence the\ndawn of a new era was confidently anticipated. The young Magyars read\nnothing but French books. Lamartine's \"History of the Girondists\" and\nTocquevelle's \"Democracy\" were their Bibles. Pet\u00f6fi worshipped Beranger,\nwhom he was speedily to excel, while J\u00f3kai had found his ideal in Victor\nHugo. \"This school might easily have become dangerous to us,\" says\nJ\u00f3kai, \"had not its influence, fortunately, coincided with the opening\nup of a new and hitherto unexplored field--the popular romance. Hitherto\nit had been the endeavour of Magyar writers to write in a style distinct\nfrom the language of ordinary life. Our group, on the other hand,\nstarted with the idea that it was just the very expressions,\nconstructions, and modes of thought employed in everyday life that\nHungarian writers ought to take as the fundamental principle of their\nwriting, nay, that they should even develop ideally beautiful poetry\nitself from the life of the common people. .\u00a0.\u00a0. My own ambition,\" he\nadds, \"was to explore those regions where the hoof of Pegasus had\nhitherto left no trace.\" And in this he certainly succeeded when he\nwrote his first considerable romance \"H\u00e9tk\u00f6znapok.\"\n\nThe novel had been successfully cultivated in Hungary long before J\u00f3kai\nappeared upon the scene. As early as 1794, Joseph K\u00e1rm\u00e1n had written\n\"Fanni hagyom\u00e1nyai\" (Fanny's Legacies), obviously suggested by \"Pamela,\"\nand still one of the best purely analytical romances in the language. A\ngeneration later, two noblemen, Baron Joseph E\u00f6tv\u00f6s and Baron Michael\nJ\u00f3sika, J\u00f3kai's elder contemporaries, respectively founded the didactic\nnovel with a purpose and the historical romance. E\u00f6tv\u00f6s, one of the most\nliberal and enlightened spirits of his age, fought, almost\nsingle-handed, against the abuses of feudalism in his great \"A falu\njegyz\u00f6je\" (The Village Notary), while J\u00f3sika, an intelligent disciple of\nWalter Scott, enriched the national literature with a whole series of\noriginal historical romances which gave to Hungarian prose a new\nelevation and a distinction. But \"H\u00e9tk\u00f6znapok\" was something quite\nnew--so much so, indeed, that J\u00f3kai himself was doubtful about it, and\ndetermined that it should stand or fall by the verdict of the\nacademician Ignatius Nagy, one of the most productive and ingenious\nwriters of his day, whose influence was then at its height, and who was\nregarded as an oracle by literary \"young Hungary.\" J\u00f3kai, who had never\nseen the great man before, approached him with considerable trepidation,\nwhich was not diminished by the very peculiar appearance of this\nAristarchus. \"He had,\" J\u00f3kai tells us, \"a most embarrassing face covered\nwith dark-red spots right up to his astonishingly lofty forehead, whose\nshiny baldness was half cut in two, as it were, by a bright black\nperuke. He had also an inconceivably big red nose, at which, however,\nyou had no time to be amazed, so instantly were you spell-bound by a\ncouple of squinting eyes--one of which glared as fixedly at you as if it\nwas made wholly of stone. His voice, on the other hand, was as the voice\nof a little child. And within this repulsive frame dwelt the noblest of\nsouls, in this crippled body the most energetic of characters. From no\nother strange face did I ever get a kinder glance than I got from those\nstiff, fishy eyes, and that rich voice announced to me my first great\npiece of good luck. Upon his recommendation, the publisher Hartleben\nagreed to publish my first romance, and gave me 360 silver florins for\nit--in those days an immense fortune to me. I had no further need now to\ngo scribbling all day long in a lawyer's office at six florins a month.\"\n\n\"H\u00e9tk\u00f6znapok\" was published, in two volumes, in 1846. The book caused a\nprofound sensation. Its very extravagance suited the taste of an age\nsteeped in Eugene Sueism, and Pet\u00f6fi, in introducing J\u00f3kai to Professor\nRoye as \"a writer who writes French romances in Magyar,\" hit off both\nthe book and its author to a nicety. It was just the brilliant,\nexuberant, fanciful sort of thing that a clever youth with a boundless\nimagination, and no knowledge whatever of the world, would be likely to\nproduce. Still, even the writers who pointed out its crudities and\nmorbidities, praised its striking originality and charm of style, and\nthough it gave but a faint indication of the real genius of the author\nit brought him into notice, and editors began to look kindly upon him.\nThus Frankenburg, the editor of the literary review _\u00c9letk\u00e9pek_, who\nhad just parted with his dramatic critic for being a little too\nunmerciful to the artistes, was induced to take on J\u00f3kai in his place.\nBy way of honorarium, he offered the young aspirant a free seat at the\ntheatre and ten florins a month. But J\u00f3kai's year of office came to an\nend the very first week. To make up for his predecessor's want of\ngallantry, and obeying the dictates of his youthful enthusiasm, he\nlauded every lady _artiste_ to the skies. \"I can honestly say,\" J\u00f3kai\ntells us, with evident enjoyment of the laugh against himself, \"that I\nmeant every word of it. It was then that I saw a ballet for the first\ntime in my life, and it was my solemn conviction that I was bound by a\ndebt of gratitude to say a good word for the excellent damsel who\nexhibited her natural charms to the public eye with such magnanimous\nfrankness. And a pretty lecture Frankenburg read me for it, too.\n'Delightful Sylphid, indeed!--a clumsy stork, I should say!' Still,\n_that_ might have passed. But it was my magnifying of Lilla Szil\u00e1gyi,\nwho took the part of Smike in _The Beggars of London_, which did the\nbusiness for me. I called her 'a lovely sapling!' and promised her a\nbrilliant future in her dramatic career. 'Leave her alone--she has no\nreputation at all,' said the editor. 'Then she'll get one!' said I. 'But\nyou'll never get to be a critic,' said he. And so, for Lilla Szil\u00e1gyi's\nsake, I laid down my _r\u00f4le_ of critic; and yet I was right, after all,\nfor she really _did_ become a great artiste. I felt this snub very much\nat the time, but now I bless my fate that things fell out as they did.\nFancy if _now_ my sole title to fame rested upon my reputation as a\ndramatic critic!--terrible thought!\"\n\nA few days afterwards a new career suddenly opened out before J\u00f3kai.\nPaul Kir\u00e1lyi, the editor of the _Jelenkor_, invited J\u00f3kai to join his\npaper as a correspondent at a salary of thirty-five florins a month. Of\ncourse he jumped at it; a newspaper contributor in Hungary was then a\npersonage of some importance. About the same time he passed his first\nlegal examination, and became a certificated lawyer. His diploma, if not\n_pr\u00e6clarus_, was, at any rate, _laudabilis_. The oral _rigorosum_ he\npassed through brilliantly, but, oddly enough, his _Hungarian style_ was\nnot considered satisfactory. The publication of his diploma was a\nsufficiently dignified excuse for a visit to his native place. He was\nwell received in the bosom of his family; the whole clan J\u00f3kai came\ntogether for dinner at his mother's, and for supper at the house of his\nbrother-in-law, Francis V\u00e1ly. The two Calvinist ministers of the place\nwere also invited, and one of them toasted him as \"the ward of two\nguardians, and guardian of Two Wards,\" the first allusion being to their\nspiritual guardianship, and the second to his new drama, _The Two\nWards_. \"It was the first toast that ever made me blush,\" says J\u00f3kai.\nThe next day was fixed for the meeting of the County Board, and at the\nend of the proceedings his diploma was promulgated. On the same day his\nmother gave him his father's silver-mounted sword and the cornelian\nsignet-ring with the old family crest upon it, which the elder J\u00f3kai had\nbeen wont to wear. \"Democrat as I am,\" says J\u00f3kai, \"I frankly confess\nthat to me there was a soul-steeling thought in the reflection that with\nthis sword my worthy ancestors, much better men than I, had defended\ntheir nation and constitution of yore, and that this signet-ring had\nput the seal upon their covenanted rights for all time.\"\n\nOn returning to Pest, he found awaiting him a letter from Pet\u00f6fi,\ninforming him that he had just married Julia Szendrey, and begging J\u00f3kai\nto seek out a convenient lodging where they and he could live together.\nThat a newly married husband should invite his faithful bachelor comrade\nto live with him under the same roof was, as J\u00f3kai well remarks, a fact\nbelonging to the realm of fairy-tale. J\u00f3kai immediately hunted up a nice\nfirst-floor apartment in Tobacco Street, consisting of three rooms and\ntheir appurtenances, the first room being for the Pet\u00f6fis, the second\nfor himself, while the intermediate one was to be a common dining-room,\neach with a separate entrance. The young couple came in during the\nautumn; they kept one maid, and J\u00f3kai had an old man-servant to wait\nupon him. The furniture was primitive. Mrs. Pet\u00f6fi, who had left the\nmansion of her wealthy and eminent father without either dowry or\nblessing--the family utterly opposing the match, and visiting the\nenamoured young lady with the full weight of their heavy\ndispleasure--had not so much as a fashionable hat to put on, and sewed\ntogether a sort of head-dress of her own invention, which, when\nfinished, she had not the courage to wear. They had nothing, and yet\nwere perfectly happy, and so was J\u00f3kai. Their dinners were sent in from\na tavern, the Golden Eagle, close at hand, and their chief amusement was\nto learn English and laugh at each other's blunders.\n\nA quarrel with the naturally irritating and overbearing Pet\u00f6fi put an\nend to this symposium, and, doubtless to every one's relief, J\u00f3kai\nstarted a bachelor establishment of his own, consisting of a couple of\nrooms, which he furnished himself. Properly speaking, it only became a\nbachelor's establishment when he entered it. Previously thereto it had\nbeen occupied by a little old woman, popularly known as M\u00e1mi, who kept a\nwell-known registry office for servants, and the consequence was that a\nwhole mob of cooks, parlour-maids, and nursery-maids invaded J\u00f3kai's\npremises at all hours, under the persuasion that he could provide them\nwith places. This constant flow of petticoats to his door not only\ndisturbed his work terribly, but was sufficient to have brought a less\nstudious and conscientious man into disrepute. It was at this time that\nJ\u00f3kai became the responsible editor of the _\u00c9letk\u00e9pek_ during the\ntemporary absence of Frankenburg, and so began his political career. The\n_\u00c9letk\u00e9pek_ was one of the most widely read journals of those days.\nUnder Frankenburg's able editorship it had become the leading radical\nprint, and it was no small glory for J\u00f3kai that, despite his youth, he\nshould have been thought worthy of directing it. It numbered among its\ncontributors some of the most brilliant names in the Hungarian\nLiterature, from V\u00f6r\u00f6smarty to Arany. His literary colleagues assembled\nregularly at J\u00f3kai's lodgings to discuss current political events, and\nmore than one idea of reform was hatched under the wing of the\n_\u00c9letk\u00e9pek_. It was in this occupation that the stormy, headlong month\nof March, 1848, found our hero. It was to tear him away from his\nmoorings and cast him upon a veritable sea of troubles; but it was also\nto arouse and develop his capabilities in the school of life and\naction.\n\nOn February 23, 1848, a revolution broke out at Paris, and in a\ncouple of days Louis Philip was a dethroned exile. Such a facile\nvictory of liberal principles encouraged other liberty-loving nations\nto follow the example of the mother of constitutions, and the\nHungarians were among the first to rise. In the Diet, Louis Kossuth\neloquently demanded equality before the law, a popular representative\nparliament, and an independent, responsible ministry; but the new wine\nof nineteenth-century liberalism speedily burst the old bottles of\nobsolete, if picturesque, constitutional forms, and the direction of the\nmovement, which became more and more impetuous every moment, slipped\nfrom the control of the cautious diplomatists and politicians at Vienna\ninto the hands of the enthusiastic journalists and demagogues of\nBudapest. Amongst these, young J\u00f3kai, from the first, took a leading\npart. Early in the morning of March 15, he and his friends, Pet\u00f6fi,\nVasv\u00e1ry, and Bulyovszky, met in J\u00f3kai's room, by lamplight, and his\ncomrades entrusted him with the framing of a manifesto, based upon the\nfamous _Twelve Points_, or Articles of Pest, drawn up the day before by\nJoseph Irinyi, embodying the wishes of the Hungarian nation. This done,\nthey rushed out into the public squares and harangued the mob, which had\nassembled in thousands. But speech-making was not sufficient; they\nwanted to _do_ something, and the first thing to be done was, obviously,\nto give practical application to the doctrine of a free press. So they\ndetermined to print forthwith the Twelve Articles, the Manifesto, and\nPet\u00f6fi's incendiary song, \"Talpra Magyar,\" without the consent of the\ncensor. What followed must be told in J\u00f3kai's own words:--\n\n\"The printing-press of Landerer and Heckenast was honoured with this\ncompulsory distinction. The printers, naturally, were not justified in\nprinting anything without the permission of the authorities, so we\nturned up our sleeves and worked away at the hand-presses ourselves. The\nname of the typewriter who set up the first word of freedom was\n_Potemkin_! While Irinyi and other young authors were working away at\nthe press, it was my duty to harangue the mob which thronged the whole\nlength of Hatv\u00e1ni Street. I had no idea how to set about it, but it came\nof its own accord. My worthy and loyal contemporary, Paul Szontagh,\noccasionally quotes to me, even now, some of the heaven-storming phrases\nwhich he heard me utter on that occasion, _e.g._ '.\u00a0.\u00a0. No,\nfellow-citizens! he is no true hero who can only _die_ for his country;\nhe who can _slay_ for his country, he is the true hero!' That was the\nsort of oratory I used to practise in those days. Meanwhile the rain was\nbeginning to fall, and rain is the most reactionary opponent of every\nrevolution. But my people were not to be dispersed by the rain, and all\nat once the whole street was filled with expanded umbrellas. I was\noutraged at the sight. 'What, gentlemen!' I thundered, from the corner\nof the street, 'if you stick up your umbrellas now against mere\nrain-drops, what will you stick up against the bullets which will\npresently begin to fall?' It was only then that I noticed that there\nwere not only gentlemen around me, but ladies also. I exhorted the\nladies to go home. Here they would get dripping wet, I said, and some\nother accident might befall them. 'We are no worse off here than you\nare,' was the reply. They were determined to wait till the printed\nbroad-sides were ready. Not very long afterwards, Irinyi appeared at the\nwindow of the printing-office, for to get out of the door was a sheer\nimpossibility. He held in his hands the first printed sheets from the\nfree press. Ah, that scene, when the very first few sheets were\ndistributed from hand to hand! .\u00a0.\u00a0. And now a young county official was\nseen forcing his way through the dense crowd right to the very door of\nthe printing-office, and from thence he addressed me. The\nVice-Lieutenant of the county, Paul Ny\u00e1ry, sent word that I was to go to\nhim at the town hall. 'Why should _I_ go?' I cried, from my point of\nvantage. 'I'll be shot if I do! If the Vice-Lieutenant of the county\nwants to speaks to me, let _him_ come _here_! We are \"the mountain\"\nnow.' And Mohammed really _did_ come to 'the mountain,' and, .\u00a0.\u00a0. what\nis more, he came to approve of what we had done hitherto, and then to go\nalong with us to the town hall to ratify the articles of the liberal\nprogramme. .\u00a0.\u00a0. The town hall was crammed to suffocation. Those who\nwere called upon to speak, stood upon the green table, and remained\nthere afterwards, so that at last the whole magistracy of the county,\nand I and all my colleagues, were standing on the table. The Burgomaster\nannounced from the balcony of the town hall that the town of Pest had\nadopted the Twelve Articles, and with that the avalanche carried the\nwhole of the burgesses along with it. .\u00a0.\u00a0. In the evening the town was\nilluminated, and a free performance was given at the theatre, _B\u00e1nk\nB\u00e1n_, Katona's celebrated historical drama, being the piece selected.\nBut the mob, which, by this time, was in a state of ecstasy, had no\nlonger the patience to listen to the sublime declamations of the Ban\nPeter. It called for 'Talpra Magyar!' (Up, up, Magyars!), the Hungarian\nMarseillaise. What was to be done? The brilliant court of King Andrew\nII., with the Queen and _B\u00e1nk B\u00e1n_ to boot, had to form a group round\nGabriel Egressy, who, in a simple _attila_, and with a sword by his\nside, stood in the middle of the stage and declaimed, with magnificent\nemphasis, Pet\u00f6fi's inspiring poem. .\u00a0.\u00a0. Then the band struck up the\nR\u00e1k\u00f3czy march, so long prohibited in Hungary because of its supposed\nrevolutionary tendency. This naturally increased the excitement instead\nof extinguishing it. .\u00a0.\u00a0. Then a voice from the gallery suddenly cried,\n'Long live Tancsis!'--Tancsis, by the way, was a political prisoner who\nhad been released that very morning from the citadel of Buda by the\nmob--and with that the whole populace suddenly roared with one voice,\n'Tancsis! Tancsis!' A frightful tumult arose. Tancsis was not at hand.\nHe lived somewhere in a distant suburb. But even had he been near, it\nwould have been a cruel thing to have dragged on to the stage a poor,\nworn-out invalid, that he might merely make his bow to the public. But\nwhat was to be done? 'Well, my sons,' said Ny\u00e1ry, with whom I was\nstanding in the same box, 'you have awakened this great monster; now see\nif you can put him to sleep again!' All my young friends, one after the\nother, attempted to address the people. .\u00a0.\u00a0. The curtain was let down,\nbut then the tumult grew more than ever, the gallery stamped like mad;\nit was a perfect pandemonium. Then an idea occurred to me. I could get\non to the stage from Ny\u00e1ry's box. I rushed on through the side wings. A\npretty figure I cut, I must say. I was splashed up to the knees with\nmud, from scouring the streets all day. I wore huge goloshes; my\nbattered cylinder, surmounted by a gigantic red feather, was drenched\nwith rain, so that I could easily have thrust it under my arm and made a\ncrush hat of it. I looked around me and perceived Egressy. I told him to\ndraw up the curtain; I would harangue the people from the stage. Rozsa\nLaborfalvi, who played the part of 'Queen Gertrude,' came towards me.\nShe smiled upon me with truly majestic grace, greeted me, and pressed my\nhand. She was wearing the Magyar tricolour cockade--red, white, and\ngreen--on her bosom, and she took it off and pinned it on my breast.\nThen the curtain was raised. When the mob beheld my muddy, saturated\nfigure, it began to shout afresh, and the uproar gradually became a call\nfor every one to hear me. When at last I was able to speak, I delivered\nmyself of this masterly piece of oratory: 'Brother citizens! Our friend\nTancsis is not here, he is at home in the bosom of his family. Allow the\npoor blind man to taste the joy of seeing his family once more.' It was\nonly then that I became conscious of the nonsense I was talking. How\ncould a _blind_ man _see_ his family? If the mob began to laugh I was\ndone for! It was the tricoloured ribbon which saved me. 'Regard this\ntricoloured cockade on my breast!' I cried. 'Let it be the badge of this\nglorious day! Let every man who is freedom's warrior wear it! It will\ndistinguish us from the hirelings of slavery. These three colours\nrepresent the three sacred words, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity! Let\nevery one in whom Magyar blood and a free spirit burns wear them on his\nbreast.' And so the thing was done. The tricoloured cockade preserved\norder. Whoever wished to pin on the tricoloured cockade had to hurry\nhome first. Ten minutes later the theatre was empty, and the next day\nthe tricoloured cockade was to be seen on every breast. .\u00a0.\u00a0. In the\nintoxication of my triumph I hastened after Rozsa Laborfalvi as soon as\nthis scene was over and pressed her hand. And with that pressure our\nengagement began. .\u00a0.\u00a0. And the honeymoon was in keeping with the\nengagement. The roar of cannon and the clash of arms was the music that\nplayed at _my_ wedding.\"\n\nThe lady whose heart and hand J\u00f3kai won under such stimulating\ncircumstances was in every way worthy of him. Born at Miskolcz in 1817,\nJudith Laborfalvi-Benk\u00e9, to give her her full family name, was thus\neight years her husband's senior. Her father, Joseph Benk\u00e9, a retired\nactor, and subsequently a teacher at the Roman Catholic girls' school at\nMiskolcz, permitted her, in her sixteenth year, to try her fortune on\nthe stage, at Budapest. But the first attempt was a decided failure, and\nshe returned home, apparently disillusioned. A second attempt proved\nmuch more successful. Her fine figure, handsome face, and sweet voice\nnow made a great impression, and the experienced stage-manager, Egressy,\nrecognizing her great capabilities, encouraged her to proceed. By 1837\nshe had superseded Madame Kantor, hitherto the chief heroine of the\nMagyar stage, and henceforth, till her retirement from the stage in\n1859, was accounted one of the leading Hungarian actresses. Her best\n_r\u00f4les_ were \"Volumnia,\" \"Lady Macbeth,\" \"Adrienne Lecouvreur,\" \"Mary\nStuart\" in Schiller's play of that name, and \"Queen Gertrude\" in _B\u00e1nk\nB\u00e1n_. She had already reached the height of her fame when she gave her\nhand to young J\u00f3kai, and it was her courage and devotion which sustained\nhim during the dark years of trial and depression upon which he was now\nabout to enter.\n\nBut at first there was no thought of calamity. J\u00f3kai flung himself heart\nand soul into the revolutionary movement. He converted the literary\n_\u00c9letk\u00e9pek_ into a political organ of the most uncompromising character,\nwhich he edited along with Pet\u00f6fi; rejected the aristocratic terminal\n\"y\" of his name for the more democratic \"i,\"[1] and adopted for his\njournal the motto: \"Liberty, Equality, Fraternity.\" Yet J\u00f3kai was no\nfriend of unnecessary violence; and when his co-editor, Pet\u00f6fi, during\nJ\u00f3kai's absence for a few days on his honeymoon (he married Rozsa\nLaborfalvi on August 27, 1848), inserted, contrary to his solemn\npromise, an abusive tirade against the poet V\u00f6r\u00f6smarty, J\u00f3kai severely\nblamed his friend's want of straightforwardness in an editorial in\n_\u00c9letk\u00e9pek_. Pet\u00f6fi instantly and most virulently attacked J\u00f3kai in the\ncolumns of the same paper; accused him of ingratitude, declined to be\nlectured, threw up his co-editorship, and broke off all intercourse with\nhim. Some coolness had previously arisen between the two friends owing\nto Pet\u00f6fi's taking it upon himself to disapprove of J\u00f3kai's marriage,\nand communicating his views on the subject to J\u00f3kai's mother, who had\ndisapproved of it all along. J\u00f3kai naturally resented both the criticism\nand the interference, and the rupture was unfortunately final, as\nPet\u00f6fi perished mysteriously at the Battle of Segesv\u00e1r, twelve months\nlater, before there had been any reconciliation. For now the Hungarian\nrevolution tore every true Magyar along with it, and wonderful,\nincredible things were the order of the day. On September 24, 1848,\nKossuth received the permission of the Hungarian Parliament to organize\na rising of the population in the _Alf\u00f6ld_, or great Hungarian plain,\nand young J\u00f3kai was sent down thither as one of his chief agents; but,\nas if to illustrate that singular blend of common sense and exaltation\nwhich has always characterized the Magyar in politics, the ardent author\nof \"H\u00e9tk\u00f6znapok\" was accompanied by a sort of bodyguard of soberer\nyouths, who were to cut him short without ceremony whenever his\neloquence carried him too far. It was on this occasion that J\u00f3kai\nenlisted the services of the famous robber-chief, Alexander R\u00f3zsa,[2]\nfor the national cause, and obtained his pardon from the Government. On\nthe outbreak of the Vienna Revolution at the beginning of October,\nKossuth sent J\u00f3kai and Csern\u00e1tonai to promise the Viennese assistance,\nbut the movement was crushed before any such assistance could be\nrendered. In the beginning of December, J\u00f3kai accepted the invitation of\nthe publishers, Landerer and Heckenast, to edit the leading Pest\nnewspaper, _Pesti Hirlap_, in place of Csengery, who had become a member\nof the Government. He announced, as the substance of his programme, the\nbringing about of \"the unity and independence of the Hungarian State.\"\nAfter subjugating Vienna, the Austrian army advanced against Pest. On\nDecember 30 the inhabitants threw up earthworks at the foot of the\nGilbert hill, working night and day without distinction of age or sex,\nJ\u00f3kai and his wife amongst them. After the battle of M\u00f3or, January 1,\n1849, when the Imperialists defeated Perczel and his Honv\u00e9ds, the J\u00f3kais\nfollowed the Hungarian Government to Debreczen. Here also J\u00f3kai\nsupported himself by journalism, and on February 22 started the _Esti\nLapok_ as the organ of the Constitutional Liberals as opposed to the\n_Marczius Tizen\u00f6t\u00f6dike_, the organ of the extreme Radicals. Yet J\u00f3kai\nhimself was not infrequently carried away by his patriotism, and\nactually proclaimed the republic in his newspaper two days before the\nDiet unanimously dethroned the Hapsburgs (April 14, 1849). When the\nHonv\u00e9ds recaptured the fortress of Buda, the Government and the Diet\nreturned to Pest, and J\u00f3kai, as editor of both the _Esti Lapok_ and the\n_Pesti Hirlap_, powerfully contributed to encourage the nation in its\nstruggle for independence. In a month's time, however, the Hungarian\nGovernment, now threatened by a combination of the Russians and\nAustrians, were obliged to take refuge, first at Szegedin, and finally\nat Arad, J\u00f3kai accompanying them to both places. He has described this\nportion of his life in a few eloquent sentences. \"Out into the desolate\nworld we went, in the depths of a Siberian winter, with everything\ncrackling with cold, forcing our way along through the snowy desert of\nthe _Alf\u00f6ld_, with the retreating Honv\u00e9d army, passing the night in an\ninhospitable hut, where the closed door had frozen to the ground by the\nmorning, and the roll of drums and the blare of trumpets aroused us to\ntoil on still further. .\u00a0.\u00a0. My wife went everywhere with me. She\nquitted a comfortable home, sacrificed a fortune, a brilliant career, to\nendure hunger, cold, and hardship with me. And I never heard her utter\none word of complaint. When I was downhearted she comforted me. And,\nwhen all _my_ hopes were stifled, she shared _her_ hopes with me. And\nshe worked like the wife of a Siberian convict. She did not _play the\npart_ of a peasant girl now, she was a serving woman in grim earnest.\"\n\n     [Footnote 1: One often sees the names of Hungarian\n     celebrities with prefixed \"de's\" or \"von's\" in English\n     newspapers. This is quite inaccurate, the Magyar\n     language admitting no such honorific particles.]\n\n     [Footnote 2: R\u00f3zsa's doings are recorded in J\u00f3kai's\n     \"L\u00e9lekidomar.\" An English translation of the book was\n     rejected by an eminent Scotch publisher a few years ago\n     as too improbable, yet the events there recorded are\n     literally true.]\n\nAfter the catastrophe of Vil\u00e1gos, when the unconquerable G\u00f6rgei\nvoluntarily surrendered the last fragments of his exhausted army to the\nRussians so as to baulk the Austrians of a triumph they did not deserve,\nJ\u00f3kai was saved from captivity by the ingenious audacity of J\u00e1nos\nR\u00e1k\u00f3czy, Kossuth's secretary, who hired a carriage and horses, disguised\nhimself as a coachman, and, with the utmost nonchalance, drove right\nthrough the advancing Muscovites. Picking up his wife again at Gyula,\nJ\u00f3kai set off for the remote little hamlet of Tardon\u00e1, a place \"walled\noff from the rest of the world\" by dense beech forests, where hundreds\nof thousands of pigs were every year fattened for the Servian market.\nHere J\u00f3kai lived at the house of his friend, the local magistrate, B\u00e9ni\nCs\u00e1nyi, for nearly six months, principally occupied in landscape\npainting, while his indefatigable wife hastened back to Pest to resume\nher engagement at the National Theatre (they had for the time no other\nmeans of subsistence), and attempt to save him from proscription. From\nAugust to the middle of October J\u00f3kai knew absolutely nothing of what\nwas going on in the world. Tardon\u00e1 was a corner of the earth whither no\nvisitor ever came, and where the inhabitants themselves went nowhither.\nAt last his wife rejoined him, and told him that his hermit-like\nseclusion would soon be over. She then took from her bosom a carefully\nconcealed tiny grey schedule, which was a great treasure in those days.\nIt was the guarantee of his liberation--a common passport. It should be\nexplained that when the fortress of Comorn capitulated, months after the\nwar was over everywhere else, it was on condition that every officer of\nthe garrison should be provided with a passport guaranteeing his life\nand liberty, and dispensing him from enrolment in the Austrian army.\nJ\u00f3kai's wife had contrived to procure for him such a passport in the\nsimplest way in the world. A friend of hers, Vincent Szathmary, wrote\nJ\u00f3kai's name down on the list of the capitulating officers as a third\nlieutenant, and handed the passport bearing his name to his wife. This\nhad been Madame J\u00f3kai's idea from the first, and was the reason why\nJ\u00f3kai had been hidden away so carefully by her among the beech forests\nof Tardon\u00e1 till she had safely carried out her innocent conspiracy.\n\nJ\u00f3kai's life was now safe, but extreme caution was still by no means\nsuperfluous. It was not till some time later that he ventured to return\nto Pest from Misk\u00f3lcz under the pseudonym of J\u00e1nos Kov\u00e1cs,[3] living\nmost of the time at his wife's lodgings, or at an inn among the hills\nof Buda. The military government (Hungary was then under martial law,\nwith Czechs in all the chief posts of trust) was inclined to be\nindulgent to literature, but spies and traitors were about, and to his\neternal shame a Magyar lawyer, Hegyesi by name, hoping to curry favour\nwith the authorities at Vienna, informed against J\u00f3kai and thirty-four\nother Hungarian writers, whom he pronounced worthy of death. They were\ndefended in a long memorial by their countryman, the advocate, J\u00e1nos\nKossalko, who demonstrated that the Hungarian literature was not the\ncause of the Hungarian revolution, but was only the echo of public\nopinion. Not till 1850 was it possible for J\u00f3kai to follow a literary\ncareer once more. His first works were written under the name of his dog\n\"Sajo;\" but in 1851 he contributed under his own name to the columns of\nthe _Magyar Eml\u00e9k Lapok_ and the _Rem\u00e9ny_, two of the new reviews, as\nwell as to the _D\u00e9lib\u00e1b_, founded by Count Leo Festetics. It was now\nthat Mrs. J\u00f3kai suggested the starting of a popular illustrated weekly,\nto be called _Vas\u00e1rnapi Ujs\u00e1g_. But the difficulty was how to find an\neditor for this new venture. J\u00f3kai's name was in such bad odour with the\nAustrian Government that he himself was out of the question, but at last\na suitable editor was found in Albert Pakh, a popular humorist of great\nmerit, who had only been prevented from participating in the revolution\nby a lingering illness, which had confined him to the hospital during\nthe whole of 1848-9, so that he escaped being amongst the proscribed.\nBut if Pakh was the editor, J\u00f3kai was the soul of the _Vas\u00e1rnapi Ujs\u00e1g_,\nand it was his pen which quickly gave it vogue and celebrity. In\nparticular the extremely humorous dramatic criticisms, which he\ncontributed to the paper every week in the form of letters under the\npseudonym \"Kakas M\u00e1rton,\"[4] were the chief delight of the reading\npublic. Kakas M\u00e1rton's _obiter dicta_ were everywhere quoted. Kakas\nM\u00e1rton meerschaums and Kakas M\u00e1rton clays, with bowls in the shape of\ncock-headed men, were on sale at every shop in the capital. \"_O tempi\npassati_,\" cries J\u00f3kai, reviewing that period nearly forty years\nafterwards, \"what a popular character I was, to be sure! I really _was_\nin the mouth of the nation in those days.\"\n\n     [Footnote 3: John Smith.]\n\n     [Footnote 4: Martin Cock.]\n\nIn 1856 J\u00f3kai broke entirely new ground by starting the first Hungarian\nillustrated comic paper, under the title of _Nagy T\u00fck\u00f6r_ (Great Mirror),\nbut better known by its later title of _\u00dcst\u00f6k\u00f6s_ (The Comet), which he\nedited for the next fourteen years. Inestimable were the services which\n_\u00dcst\u00f6k\u00f6s_ rendered to Hungary. It taught the nation to laugh and live in\nhope of better times. It was also the training school of the first\nMagyar caricaturists and comic artists. J\u00f3kai himself contributed to it\nwith his pencil as well as his pen, and some of the best comic cuts in\nthe _\u00dcst\u00f6k\u00f6s_ were by \"Kakas M\u00e1rton.\" In course of time all the comic\ntalent of the nation was attracted to the _\u00dcst\u00f6k\u00f6s_, and a whole army of\nnotable humorists supported its editor. It was in the columns of the\n_\u00dcst\u00f6k\u00f6s_ that Arany's famous satire, \"Poloska,\" first appeared; it was\nthe _\u00dcst\u00f6k\u00f6s_ which discovered and educated J\u00e1nos J\u00e1nko, the prince of\nMagyar caricaturists; it was the _\u00dcst\u00f6k\u00f6s_ which refused to take the\ngendarmes or the censorship too seriously, and scourged with its\nsatiric lash the blunders and absurdities of the Bach _r\u00e9gime_, which\nlaboured so hard to germanize Hungary.\n\nThe _\u00dcst\u00f6k\u00f6s_ had a literary supplement to which J\u00f3kai contributed\nnumerous novels. It was here that appeared his masterly little tale \"A\ndebreceni lunatikus\" and the great romance \"Rab Raby,\" in which the\nutter impossibility of reforming a high-spirited nation against its will\nis so dramatically demonstrated. This story is also remarkable for the\nbest existing characterization of Kaiser Joseph II.\n\nJournalism and caricature indeed represent but a tithe of J\u00f3kai's work\nduring this period. The revolutionary war was no sooner over than he\nbegan to write that series of novels and tales which was to make him\nfamous throughout Europe. Roughly speaking, these earlier novels fall\ninto two categories: (1) battle-pieces, descriptions of the vicissitudes\nof the late war, recounted with all the vividness of an alert spectator,\nwho was also a born story-teller; and (2) historical romances of the\nlong Turkish captivity under which Hungary had groaned from the\nbeginning of the sixteenth to nearly the end of the eighteenth century.\nAmong the first set may be mentioned, \"Forradalmi \u00e9s csatak\u00e9pek\"\n(Revolutionary and Battle-pieces) 1850, and \"Egy bujdos\u00f3 napl\u00f3ja\" (Diary\nof an Outlaw) 1851; while the latter set includes, \"Erd\u00e9ly aranykora\"\n(The Golden Age of Transylvania) 1852, with its sequel, \"Tor\u00f6kvil\u00e1g\nMagyarorszagon\" (The Turkish World in Hungary), 1853. These tales of the\nTurkish rule in Magyarland, independently of their \u00e6sthetic value, were\nveritable parables. Every one who read them when they first came out,\nknew very well whom he was to understand by \"The Turks.\" Every one knew\nthat the author had only given the griefs and grievances of the Magyars\nan historical setting and an oriental colouring to evade the scrutiny of\nthe censorship. Every one knew that the author's patriotic allusions and\nattacks applied as much to the Austrian tyranny of the nineteenth as to\nthe Ottoman tyranny of the seventeenth century. Through the woof of\nthese gorgeously oriental stories could be read the transparent reminder\nand encouragement that the kingdom had survived a worse overthrow than\nthe present one, and that if Magyarland rose again from her grave, it\nwould not be the first time she had done so. Even the terrible Turkish\ndeluge had not swept away the Hungarian nation. Light had followed upon\ndarkness; there was hope in the future because the past had never been\ndesperate. As historical romances, moreover, both these tales stand very\nhigh, higher even than the romances of Sienkiewicz, because they possess\nhumour, a quality in which the great Pole is deficient. In both cases,\nJ\u00f3kai based his narrative on the contemporary chronicles of Cserey, who\nlived at Prince Michael Apafy's court. He found most of his characters\nready to hand, and where Cserey fails him, J\u00f3kai's own historical\nimagination fills up the gaps. It is true that in the obviously invented\nportions of these stories (_e.g._ the Azraele episodes), the daring\nfancy of the author sometimes carries him far beyond the bounds of even\npoetic licence. It is equally true that both stories suffer from want of\nunity; they are rather loosely connected series of brilliant pictures\nthan one continuous narrative. But the dramatic force, the fascinating\nstyle, and the inexhaustible inventiveness of the author, carry his\nreaders breathlessly over every obstacle, and they contain some of the\nfinest humour, and some of the most splendid descriptions of natural\nscenery in modern literature.\n\nThe admiration excited by these noble productions rose still higher,\nwhen, in 1853-1854, J\u00f3kai published his two great social romances, \"A\nMagyar N\u00e1bob\" (The Hungarian Nabob), and its sequel, \"K\u00e1rp\u00e1thy Zolt\u00e1n\"\n(Sultan Karpathy), which, in the opinion of some Hungarian critics,\nindicate the high-water mark of his authorship. In my opinion the first\nof these novels, which paints to the life the old Hungarian aristocracy\nof the earlier part of the last century in the person of J\u00e1nos K\u00e1rp\u00e1thy,\nis incomparably the best. The sequel, besides the inevitable objection\nthat it is a sequel, suffers from ultra-sensibility and a moralizing\ntendency. The hero of \"K\u00e1rp\u00e1thy Zolt\u00e1n\" can scarce be said to belong to\nreal life at all, and he is plainly meant to be the model, the ideal of\nthe rising generation. The story is also far too long. But it contains\nmany brilliant episodes, amongst them the famous description of the\nterrible overflow of the Danube in the thirties, and numerous passages\nof almost faultless beauty. On December 11, 1858, J\u00f3kai was elected a\nmember of the Hungarian Academy, and his name was henceforth numbered\namong the national classics.\n\nBut now a new career, the career of politics, was about to be thrown\nopen to J\u00f3kai. At the beginning of 1860 it was becoming pretty evident\nthat that monstrously artificial amalgamation, the unified absolute\nAustrian Monarchy of 1849, was weakening in every joint, and that no\namount of forcible riveting could keep it together much longer. Warned\nby the loss of the Italian provinces, the statesmen of Vienna were now\ninclined to follow different political principles, and recognizing that\nthe depressed and embittered Hungarian nation must be an important\nfactor in any political reconstruction, they were now prepared to make\ncertain substantial, if limited, concessions to the Magyars. The October\ndiploma of 1860 explained his Majesty's views on the subject, and the\nHungarian Estates were summoned in April, 1861, to consider the Imperial\noffer of a new constitution, which would have degraded Hungary into a\nmere province of the Austrian Empire. The Austrian statesmen imagined\nthat the spirit of the Hungarian nation had been broken by twelve years\nof oppression. They were mistaken. The Magyars would have nothing to say\nto the proposed central Reichstag, which was to assemble at Vienna as\nthe representative of all the lands of the Hapsburg monarchy, Hungary\nincluded. Under the masterly guidance of Francis De\u00e1k, the Hungarians\ninsisted on the legal continuity of the Hungarian State, and would\naccept nothing short of full autonomy. J\u00f3kai took part in the Diet of\n1861 as deputy for Siklos, and a member of the uncompromising party\nwhose motto was: \"All or nothing.\" On May 24 he delivered his maiden\nspeech, and was instantly recognized as one of the best debaters in the\nHouse. He was no impassioned orator, as from his writings we might have\nbeen led to suppose he would be; but adopted from the first a quiet,\nconversational style, appealing generally to right feeling and common\nsense; whilst his unfailing wit and humour invariably charmed his\naudience, even when he took the unpopular side, which he sometimes felt\nbound to do, for, though a consistent Liberal he was always far above\nparty prejudice. On the dissolution of the short-lived Diet of 1861,\nwhich was far too independent for the Austrian Government, the\nconstitutional struggle was carried on in the public press, where J\u00f3kai\nwas one of the foremost champions of Magyar rights. In the most\ndangerous times, when the sensitive central Government frequently flung\njournalists into prison for a single word, J\u00f3kai in the _\u00dcst\u00f6k\u00f6s_\nworried the authorities with all the darts and arrows of his wit and\nhumour, and in 1863, when he founded _Hon_ (The Country), as the\npolitical organ of Coloman Tisza and his colleagues, he brought to bear\nthe heavier ordnance of reason and argument. He had to go to Vienna in\nperson to solicit permission to bring this journal out, and had first to\npromise that he would not attack the Government.\n\n\"I promise heartily to _support_ the Vienna Government,\" answered J\u00f3kai,\n\"if only it will endeavour to do justice to the Hungarian nation, and\nfulfil its legitimate wishes.\" The _Hon_ had only been out a week when a\ncatastrophe occurred which must be told in J\u00f3kai's own words: \"I had\nfounded a political paper. I was its responsible editor and publisher.\nMy assistants were the matadors of the Liberal party. We soon had a\nlarge public. .\u00a0.\u00a0. One day an admirably written article was sent to me,\nsigned by one of the most illustrious of the Hungarian magnates (Count\nAlexander Zichy). Without more ado I published it. It was a loyal,\npatriotic article, on purely constitutional lines, showing, in the most\nmatter-of-fact way, the justice and the necessity of constitutional\ngovernment for Hungary. Because of this article the Governor brought\nboth the Count who wrote it, and the editor who inserted it, before a\ncourt-martial. He signified to the pair of us beforehand that he meant\nto make a three months' job of it. The court-martial consisted of a\ncolonel, a major, a captain, a senior and a junior lieutenant, a\nsergeant, a corporal, and a private, the last four of whom were Czechs.\nBefore this 'areopagus' I delivered a powerful defence in German, to\nwhich they naturally replied: 'March!' The tribunal condemned us to\ntwelve months' hard labour in irons, on bread and water, with loss of\nnobility and a fine of eleven hundred florins. When the sentence was\nread out, I said to the President: 'This is very odd, the Governor\npromised us only three months.' To this the President replied, with a\nsmile: 'Yes, three months for the incriminatory article, but nine more\nfor your high-flying defence.' Our sentence was for no offence against\nthe press laws. Oh dear no! We were condemned for inciting to a breach\nof the peace. Count Zichy and I had been throwing stones at the windows\nand breaking the gas-lamps. It was as public brawlers that we were sent\nto cool our heels in jail. .\u00a0.\u00a0. Nevertheless, the whole of my life in\nprison was a mere joke. .\u00a0.\u00a0. The Commandant himself, with whom I\nlodged, came every day to tell me funny stories, and then took me out\nfor long country walks. He had my writing-table, my books, my\ncarpentering and sculptural tools brought into my 'dungeon,' and there\nit was that I turned out the bust of my wife. The Commandant, also, was\npassionately fond of carpentering, so we worked together at our lathes\nas if for a wager. I was also allowed to have _with my bread and water_\nthe best that money could purchase from the inn. In the afternoon my\nfriends from the Casino Club looked in to play cards with me. .\u00a0.\u00a0. Once\nI took my fellow prisoner and my jailor to my villa at Svabhegy, where\nmy wife had made ready for me a splendid supper. I tapped my new wine,\nand we amused ourselves to such a very late hour, that when we returned\nto my _dungeon_ it was as much as we could do to make them let us in\nagain. And then my visitors! In the whole course of my life I never\nreceived so many visitors as during the _month_ that my _year's_\ncaptivity lasted. .\u00a0.\u00a0. I was sought out by all sorts of good friends,\nwho came from far--lords and ladies, countesses and actresses. .\u00a0.\u00a0. In\nfact, I had too much of a good thing. How could I work when my admirers\nwere crowding at my lathe all day long? At last, with tears in my eyes,\nI had to beg my jailor to sentence me to solitary confinement for a\ncouple of hours every day, and wrote on my door the hours when I was\nfree to receive company. 'Wasn't I in prison?' I asked.\"\n\nAfter the dissolution of the Diet, the provisional government did all in\nits power to cajole the opposition and make the nation accept the\nOctober diploma; but its efforts were frustrated by the tact and the\ntenacity of De\u00e1k, and, in 1865, his Majesty was again obliged to summon\nthe Diet in which J\u00f3kai once more represented Sikl\u00f3s. Even now the\nAustrian statesmen were very reluctant to compose their differences\nwith Hungary on equal terms; but the disasters of the intervening\nAustro-Prussian war made them, at last, more compliant. After Sadowa, a\ncomposition with Hungary became absolutely necessary for the very\nexistence of the Austrian Empire; the idea of a unified composite state\nwas definitely abandoned; the Hungarians, following the advice of De\u00e1k,\nloyally co-operated in bringing about a composition[5] on equal terms\nwith Austria, and on June 8, 1867, the crown of St. Stephen was placed\nupon the head of his Apostolic Majesty. Hungary had once more become\nindependent.\n\n     [Footnote 5: Curiously enough the German word\n     _Ausgleich_ has generally been used in England to\n     designate this arrangement. Yet _Ausgleich_ and its\n     Hungarian equivalent _Kiegyez\u00e9s_ simply mean\n     _composition_.]\n\nIndependence was secured, but much had to be done in the way of\npacification and reconstruction after all that the nation had suffered.\nJ\u00f3kai contributed powerfully to readjust past differences and unite all\nthe forces of the nation for the nation's good. This is the chief object\nof his romance \"\u00daj f\u00f6ldes\u00far\" (The New Landlord) published in 1863\n(memorable also as the first of his works that was translated into\nEnglish[6]), where the antagonisms of the old conservative Magyar\nsquirearchy, exemplified in Adam G\u00e1r\u00f3mv\u00f6lgyi, and the interloping German\nlandlords, as represented by Ankerschmidt, are finally adjusted by a\nhappy love-match between younger members of the long-clashing families.\nIn every respect this romance is one of J\u00f3kai's best works, and as a\ntruthful picture of the gloomy transitional period between 1850 and\n1863, is of considerable historical importance. A fine symbolism, too,\nruns through the story. The \"fair Theiss,\" as purely an Hungarian as the\nVolga is a purely Russian river, plays a leading part in the story. We\nsee her in all her moods, and when, in time of flood, she rises in her\nwrath and sweeps away all the fetters laid upon her by the Austrian\nsurveyors and engineers, the reader guesses, as he was meant to guess,\nthat the days of such petty tyrants as the comic minor characters,\nMikwesek, Maxenpfutsch, and Strajf are numbered. To the same period\nbelong a whole dozen of J\u00f3kai's most notable stories, _e.g._ \"Politikai\ndivatok\" (Political Fashions), dealing with the triumphs and horrors of\nthe civil war, and containing a glowing eulogy of his heroic,\nself-sacrificing wife; \"Az arany ember\" (A Man of Gold), one of the most\ndramatic and stimulating novels ever penned with magnificent\ndescriptions of Danubian scenery; \"Feketegy\u00e9m\u00e1ntok\" (Black Diamonds),\nwhich caught the English fancy more, perhaps, than any of his other\nworks; and the wondrous \"A j\u00f6v\u00f6 sz\u00e1zad reg\u00e9nye\" (The Romance of the\nComing Century), as ingenious and suggestive as the happiest of Jules\nVerne's or Mr. Wells's semi-scientific romances.\n\n     [Footnote 6: By Mr. Patterson in 1868.]\n\nAnd, at the same time, this indefatigable worker, not content with\nthrowing off literary masterpieces at the rate of two a year, was taking\na leading part in current politics. The Composition was, after all, but\nthe starting-point of modern Hungarian politics. It now became evident\nthat De\u00e1k's original programme was not thoroughgoing enough for the\nneeds of an independent Hungary, and every one looked upon the leader of\nthe opposition, Coloman Tisza, who first came into prominence as the\nformulator of the famous \"Bihar points\" in 1868, as the coming man. To\nthis party, the Left Centre, J\u00f3kai at once attached himself, and became\nits chief publicist, and one of its best speakers. For nine-and-twenty\nyears (1867-96) he was a member of the Diet; even when (as in 1872) he\nwas defeated in one constituency he was elected in another, and at the\nvery beginning of his political career (1869) he had the supreme\nsatisfaction of worsting a cabinet minister, Stephen Gorove, at the\npolls. It was during the earlier years of the long administration\n(1875-90) of his friend, Coloman Tisza, that J\u00f3kai exercised a constant\nand considerable political influence, both as a parliamentary debater\nand as editor of the Government organ, _Hon_ (The Country). His usual\nseat was on the second ministerial bench, just behind the premier, and\nwhenever he rose to speak he always commanded the attention of a crowded\nand expectant house. More than once his eloquence extricated the\nGovernment from a tight place. Among his more notable speeches may be\nmentioned: \"What does the Opposition want--revolution or reform?\"\ndelivered in 1869; \"The Left Centre the true party of reform,\" spoken in\n1872, and his celebrated speech on the Budget of February 26, 1880. In\nthose days he was a most ardent politician, ready, if necessary, to\nfight as well as talk and write for his opinions. Thrice he has fought\nduels, happily bloodless, with political opponents; but it was as the\neditor of the _Hon_ (incorporated in 1882 with the _Ellen\u00f6r_, under the\ntitle of _Nemzet_) that he rendered his party the most essential\nservice, and in most of the political cartoons of the day he is\ngenerally represented waving the _Hon_ as a banner, or charging with it\nas a bayonet. The ultra-Conservative comic paper, _Borszem Janko_, was\nparticularly fond of caricaturing this consistent and courageous\nchampion of enlightened Liberalism, and his earnest, gentle face, with\nthe honest eyes, ample beard and fierce moustache, is conspicuous in\nnearly every number from 1868 onwards. Thus in the number for August 23,\n1868, the coloured frontispiece represents J\u00f3kai as a huge\nblack-bearded, bald head, furiously editing four newspapers at the same\ntime, a nimble quill being stuck between each of its diminutive hands\nand feet. His increasing baldness is an inexhaustible subject for the\nraillery of this exceedingly clever print, especially on the occasion of\nhis dramatic jubilee (he is the author of numerous successful plays,\nwhich are, however, inferior to his novels) at Klausenburg, in 1871,\nwhen he is depicted in ancient Roman costume, with a Red Indian feather\nhead-dress, beating a huge drum on a Greek triumphal car. In 1896, J\u00f3kai\nquitted active politics, and in the following year was made a member of\nthe House of Magnates.\n\nJ\u00f3kai's career, on the whole, has been a singularly happy and successful\none. His worst misfortune was the death of his revered wife, on November\n20, 1886, when he sought oblivion and consolation in travel, and visited\nItaly for the second time.[7] His third visit was paid thirteen years\nlater, when he spent his honeymoon in Sicily with his second wife, the\ncomic actress, Bella Nagy, whom he married in September, 1899, when he\nwas already seventy-four years old. It is strange, considering his\nlinguistic attainments, manifold interests, and the vast range of his\nwritings, how seldom J\u00f3kai has quitted Hungary. Apart from his brief\nItalian tours, a fortnight at Berlin and Prague in 1874, and a couple of\ndays in Bosnia, in 1886, represent the whole of his foreign touring. Yet\nthere is scarce a country in Europe which he has not made the scene of\none or other of his romances. He enjoyed the sovereign triumph of his\nlife in 1894, when the whole nation rendered homage to the nestor of\nMagyar Letters by celebrating his golden jubilee as a national festival,\non which occasion he received the ribbon of St. Stephen from the King,\nthe freedom of every city in Hungary, and a cheque for 100,000 florins\nfrom the Jubilee Committee on account of the profits derived from a\nnational _edition de luxe_ of his works in a hundred huge volumes,\nillustrated by all the leading Hungarian artists. Since 1894, J\u00f3kai has\nproduced at least twenty-five fresh volumes, and their quality\ndemonstrates that the power and brilliance of the veteran are absolutely\nunimpaired. There is no sign of decay or even of deterioration. \"A\nTengerszem\u00fc H\u00f6lgy\" won the Academy's prize in 1890, as the best novel of\nthe year, while \"A S\u00e1rga R\u00f3zsa\" (The Yellow Rose), written three years\nlater, in the author's sixty-eighth year, is pronounced by so severe a\ncritic as Zoltan Be\u00f6thy to be one of the abiding ornaments of the\nnational literature.\n\n     [Footnote 7: His first visit was in 1876, but he only\n     stayed a fortnight.]\n\nOut of Hungary, J\u00f3kai, even now is far less known than might have been\nexpected, though within the last six years no fewer than fifteen out of\nhis two hundred romances have been translated into English. But this\napparent neglect is readily to be accounted for. In the first place,\nJ\u00f3kai is so national, so thoroughly Magyar, that much of his finest,\nmost characteristic work was written entirely for Hungarians, or appeals\nto them alone. This especially applies to his journalistic work and to\nhis satirico-political humoresks, which are excellent, unique even, of\ntheir kind, and yet can have but little interest for foreigners. In the\nsecond place, the fashion of modern fiction has changed since the author\nof \"A Hungarian Nabob\" began to write. J\u00f3kai is a _conteur par\nexcellence_, a _conteur_ of the old school. Most of his novels are\ntales, \"yarns,\" if you like, not \"documents\" or \"studies.\" He has also\nall the faults of the romantic school to which he indisputably\nbelongs--excessive sensibility, fantastic exaggeration, and a penchant\ntowards melodrama, though in his masterpieces he can be as true to life\nand draw character as cunningly as the best of the modern novelists. In\nthe third place, J\u00f3kai writes in a non-Aryan language of extraordinary\ndifficulty, whose peculiar idioms and constructions must necessarily\nbaffle the ingenuity of the most practised translator. It is very much\neasier, for instance, to give an English reader a tolerably correct idea\nof Tolstoi's style than of J\u00f3kai's. I speak from experience. Yet the\nfact remains that J\u00f3kai is, at last, decidedly making way amongst us.\nThe tale proper, the novel of incident in all its varieties, is again\ncoming into vogue, and J\u00f3kai is one of the greatest tale-tellers of the\ncentury. Moreover, there is a healthy, bracing, optimistic tone about\nhis romances which appeals irresistibly to normal English taste. He is\nnever dull, dirty, perverse, or obscure, and more fun (and that, too,\nof the very best sort) is to be found in any half-dozen of his works\nthan in the whole range of modern Slavonic or Scandinavian literature.\n\nR. NISBET BAIN.\n\n\nSince the above lines were written, the great Magyar writer has passed\naway (May 5th), and Hungary can but show her respect to one of the\ngreatest of her sons by standing bareheaded at his grave. To the very\nlast his inexhaustible pen was busy. Only at the beginning of this very\nyear he published his 202nd novel: \"Where money is, there God is not;\"\nand, still later, his name appeared for the last time in a collection of\nbrief autobiographies of living Hungarian authors. J\u00f3kai's sketch of\nhimself is of the briefest, but it contains two facts which cannot but\ninterest and touch English readers. He there tells us that he taught\nhimself the elements of English, without assistance, in order that he\nmight read Walter Scott's \"Ivanhoe\" in the original language, and that\n\"Boy Dickens\" (he is not the first foreigner by any means who has taken\n\"Boy\" to be Dickens' Christian name) was the object of his youthful\nadmiration, and one of his earliest delights was the perusal of \"The\nPickwick Papers.\"\n\nR. NISBET BAIN.\n\n\n\n\nTALES FROM J\u00d3KAI\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nTHE CELESTIAL SLINGERS\n\n\nIn the days when Kuczuk was the Pasha of Grosswardein, the good city of\nDebreczen had a very bad time of it. This whimsical Turk, whenever some\nlittle trifle had put him out of humour with the citizens of Debreczen,\nwould threaten to ravage the town from end to end with fire and sword,\ncut the men to mincemeat, carry off all the women into captivity, pack\nup all the treasures of the town in sacks, and sow with salt the place\nwhere once it had stood.\n\nAt first the prudent and pacific magistrates of Debreczen used to soothe\nthe heavy displeasure of the whimsical Pasha with fair-spoken\nentreaties, good words, and precious gifts; but one day Master Stephen\nDobozy was elected governor, and being a short-necked, fiery-tempered\nman, it so happened that when, for some cause or other, Kuczuk Pasha\nagain began to murmur against them, and threatened the Debreczeners that\nthis time he really _would_ come to them, Dobozy sent back this message:\n\"Let him come if he likes.\"\n\nAt this Kuczuk Pasha flew into a violent rage, immediately mounted all\nhis troops, set off that very night, and early next morning stood before\nDebreczen. \"Here I am!\" cried he.\n\nThe city had no ramparts, no trench, no drawbridge. Its whole defence\nconsisted of twelve rugged towers, in which the citizens were wont to\nkeep a look-out for nomadic freebooters--mouldering brick edifices with\nrush roofs, which would have fallen to pieces at the first cannon-shot,\nprovided outside with crazy wooden ladders terminating in a\ncircumambient wooden corridor by which you could ascend into the towers,\nso that if the ladders were plucked away from the towers nobody would be\nable to get out of them again.\n\nEach of these tower-shaped shanties guarded a gate, standing at a\nrespectful distance therefrom, so as not to stand in the way of any\npossible impetuous foe who might perhaps run his foolish head against a\ntower and knock it down.\n\nNothing testifies more clearly to the true nature of these _fortresses_\nthan the fact that a stork's nest was planted on the summit of each one\nof them, where the worthy animals, standing every evening on one leg,\nclappered for hours at a time, as if it was they who guarded the city.\n\nKuczuk had timed his arrival so well that at one and the same moment a\ndivision of his army halted at every gate, and a large round cannon,\nwhich he had taken the precaution to load, was planted opposite each of\nthe white-brick towers. It was thus that he wished to speak with the\nDebreczeners.\n\nMeanwhile there came hastening out of the town a Greek named Panajoti,\na native of Stambul and an old acquaintance of Kuczuk Pasha. Whenever\nthe magistrates of the town had any particularly ticklish message to\ndeliver to the Pasha, they always sent Panajoti, well aware that he, at\nany rate, would not be impaled straight away.\n\n\"Well, what have the magistrates of Debreczen to say for themselves?\"\n\n\"Gracious, sir, surely this Master Stephen Dobozy is a little cracked,\nfor no sooner did thy threats reach us than he immediately packed all\nthe women-folk, girls, and children into waggons, and sent them off to\nTokai; then he proclaimed by roll of drum that whoever had anything of\nvalue was to tear it to pieces, or cut it down and fling it into the\nwells, and the moment the enemy attacked the town it was to be set on\nfire at all four quarters, especial attention being given to every tower\nand church, whereupon every one was to grasp the shaft of his lance, or\nsit on his horse if he had one, and say by which gate he meant to\ndepart. And they were to take care never to show their faces again in\nthe neighbourhood of Debreczen, and thus Kuczuk Pasha would be afraid\nwhen in the presence of the sublime Sultan they asked him what had\nbecome of the great city of Debreczen, which had so faithfully paid so\nmuch and so much tribute to the Porte, made presents to all the viziers\none after another, supplied the Turkish armies with meal and provender,\nlet him boast before the Divan that he has burnt it to ashes and sown\nthe site of it with salt in a fit of pique, simply because his pipe did\nnot draw, and see what they'll say to him then!\"\n\nThat was the message which Master Stephen Dobozy sent to the Pasha, and\nPanajoti repeated it to him word for word.\n\n\"Accursed stiff-necked Calvinist!\" exclaimed the Pasha, wrathfully,\n\"he's quite capable of doing it, too, the rascal! But don't you be\nafraid that a city like Debreczen will be extirpated from the face of\nthe earth simply because he chooses to lose his temper, for Debreczen is\nso necessary to this spot that if it did not exist already the Turks\nwould have to build it. The dog knows very well that I don't want to\ndevastate the town, else he would not speak so big to me.\"\n\nPanajoti solemnly assured the Pasha that the inhabitants of Debreczen\nwere resolved to risk the uttermost, and that the moment the Pasha blew\na trumpet or aimed a gun at them, the whole place would instantly flame\nup and be of no further use to anybody. All their treasures had already\nbeen buried, the girls and women were safe away on the other side of the\nTheiss, and the men were so furious that they had all laid hold of their\nswords and scythes, and would be very difficult to manage, so embittered\nwere they.\n\nThe Pasha perceived that Panajoti was right. For once the Debreczeners\nhad got the better of him. So he withdrew the squadrons that he had\nmarshalled before the gates, sent away his guns, and said that he would\nbe merciful to Debreczen. They might take his word for it that he meant\nto hurt no one, and would henceforth deal graciously with them.\nMoreover, he warmly praised Master Stephen Dobozy for his courageous and\ndetermined conduct, and assured him that he should never have cause to\nrepent his behaviour. On the contrary, if ever he should be in trouble\nlet him have recourse to him, the Pasha; he might always rely on _his_\npatronage. And if ever he should come to Grosswardein, he was to make a\npoint of coming to see him, the Pasha; Master Dobozy might always be\nquite sure that he would be made to feel perfectly at home.\n\nAnd with that he returned to Grosswardein, with his guns and his army in\nthe same order in which he had come.\n\nThe Debreczeners breathed a great sigh of relief, and every one praised\nand exalted his Honour the Sheriff for so valiantly showing all his\nclaws. The Turk evidently perceived that he was a man who would stand no\nnonsense.\n\nKuczuk Pasha had no sooner arrived at Grosswardein than he sent for\nBadrul Beg, the vizier of the Moorish cavalry, and entrusted him with a\nspecial mission.\n\n\"This evening,\" said he, \"before dusk, take five hundred horsemen and\nset off in the direction of Di\u00f3szeg. Inquire of every person you meet\ncoming or going: 'Does this road lead to Nagy-K\u00e1ll\u00f3?' and then let them\ngo again. This do before nightfall, and then turn suddenly away from the\nDi\u00f3szeg road and wade about among the marshy meadows on the left-hand\nside to obliterate your traces, and when you get out into the fields on\nthe other side you will find the shepherds who look after the sheep and\noxen, and take them off with you to L\u00e9t\u00e1. When you perceive the towers\nof L\u00e9t\u00e1, cut down your guides, and, cautiously approaching the place,\nturn off into the great forest there. In this forest you will come upon\na lime-burner, or a herdsman, who will lead you through the forest to\nwhere it comes to an end at Hadh\u00e1z. There again trample your guides\nbeneath your feet, and remain in ambush. On the morrow, or the day after\nthat, or perhaps in a week's time--and till then you will stick to the\nforest--you will perceive four or five hundred waggons going towards\nTokai. These waggons will be packed full with select girls and women,\nand with lots of money and knickknacks, you may be sure. Seize every\nblessed one of them. If there are any men with them, cut the men down.\nWhat money you find with them distribute among your soldiers. The\nwomen-folk, on the other hand, bring hither to me. You understand what I\nsay? Remember that you carry your head in your hands, so keep an eye\nupon it.\"\n\nBadrul Beg understood the command and withdrew. The Moorish vizier was\njust the man to execute the charge committed to him, for he was capable\nof traversing the whole realm from end to end, through forest and\nmorass, till he came to his appointed place without once dismounting,\nand there he would contentedly lounge about in ambush, with an empty\nbelly for weeks together, till he had done what he was told to the very\nlast iota.\n\nBut Kuczuk Pasha thus apostrophized the good Debreczeners: \"So you would\nsmile at me, you would laugh at me? You would rejoice over me, eh? Very\nwell, laugh your fill now while you can, for the day is at hand when it\nwill be your turn to weep.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn the broad highway leading to Tokai a long series of waggons was\napproaching Hadh\u00e1z; it was the caravan of the Debreczen women.\n\nFive hundred waggons toiling one after another, filled with nothing but\nwomen and children, not a single man among them--no, not so much as a\nman's finger to raise a whip, for the women themselves even drove the\nhorses. Those among the fugitives whom God Himself had created of the\nmasculine gender had their hands nicely folded away under\nswathing-bands, and were called--babies.\n\nNothing but a pack of women and girls. Imagine the good humour, the\nracket which accompanied them on the way! They were telling each other\nhow his Honour the Sheriff had driven the Turks from the town, how\nfrightened they had been, and all the rest of it; they had enough to\ntalk about for weeks to come. Rich indeed is the fancy of souls saved\nfrom a great peril.\n\nAt the head of every waggon as coachman sat a young woman driving the\nhorses on, and singing one of those melancholy old songs which were then\nusually sung from the Theiss to Moldavia, perhaps this one, which\nbegan--\n\n    \"The little duck is bathing in the lake so black,\n     My mother in Poland gets ready the cooking-jack;\"\n\nor perhaps this--\n\n    \"If they ask thee for me, say\n     I'm a slave far, far away,\n     Hands and feet in irons bound;\"\n\nwhich last was greatly in fashion then, God knows, and many a poor\nMagyar sang it from his heart.\n\nAnd then a whole row of waggon-women would take up the song and make the\nwhole canopy of heaven ring with it; the poor little larks soaring up\nthere were quite vanquished in this singing contest.\n\nTowards evening the whole caravan halted by a green mound standing out\nupon the level plain. Who knows who raised it? or whether our bones or\nothers were in it? Our bones certainly, for the whole plain around was a\nblank desert.\n\nNot a village, not a town anywhere near; only a solitary hut surrounded\nwith ricks or stacks might be seen here and there, far apart from each\nother; not a trace of arable land; the whole district is nothing but\npasturage for flocks and herds.\n\nFrom time to time the Fata Morgana exhibits her juggleries, but we are\naccustomed to it now, and nobody is deceived thereby. She inundates the\ndistant landscape with an undulous sea, but nobody wishes to bathe in\nit. She shows us umbrageous woods, but nobody hastens to refresh himself\nthere. She conjures up cities and palaces which nobody takes the trouble\nto admire. We, the sober children of men, have discovered the meaning of\nall these enchantments, and don't care a rap what sort of marvel this\nfaded old fairy lays before us.\n\nBut on this particular day the Fata Morgana was in a peculiarly good\nhumour. Very rarely does the sun burn so fiercely as it did then. The\nearth regularly cracked beneath it, and the beds of waterpools became\ndried clayey hummocks. It was just the day for the Fata Morgana's elfin\nextravagances. A pack of young girls, the dreamiest spectators\nimaginable, were ascending a green hill to gaze down upon the marvels\nof atmospheric phenomena.\n\nAll round about surges the boundless sea full of swiftly advancing\nwaves; from time to time figures rise out of it silhouetted against the\nsky. There are swimming blue islands, which grow up and swell out as the\nwomen gaze at them, green forests overspread their shores, the shadows\nof the trees are visible in the water; and then, suddenly, the island\nsinks lower, the waves of the sea rise, and clash together over its\nhighest point. And now on the other side arise vast a\u00ebrial palaces with\ntransparent towers and hazy blue temples, and these also are tossed up\nand down by that elfin wag as if they were swimming upon it, and when\nshe has tired of them she makes endless havoc of them, and towers and\ncities tumble together into a heap of ruins; and then the sea also\ndisappears, and the eye sees nothing but a flock of migratory cranes\ncoming slowly along.\n\nThe girls on the hill begin explaining the phenomenon to each other.\n\n\"Look! that building over there was just like the church at Debreczen\nwith the two towers. And that other one that has just fallen to pieces\nis like the watch-tower at the gates of Grosswardein--it is just as\ncrazy looking.\"\n\n\"Girls, girls!\" scolded a young bride, who was suckling her plump little\nbaby at the foot of the hill, \"one ought not to joke about such things.\nIt is not right to recognize any place in the Fata Morgana. Woe will\nbefall the town which she shows. Have done with such profane\nprattling!\"\n\n\"Look!\" suddenly cried they all, and the word died away on their lips;\nevery one looked, with eyes petrified by wonder and terror.\n\nWhat was it that had suddenly come to light in the sky?\n\nTowards Hadh\u00e1z, high above the a\u00ebrial road, the misty shape of a\nhorseman was suddenly sketched out against the pallid sky--a real\nwarrior on horseback, with a quiver on his shoulder, a peaked turban on\nhis head, and his hand on his hip. The whole shape was magnified against\nthe distant horizon into gigantic proportions, which made one's heart\nbeat to look at it; the feet of the horse did not touch the ground, and\nbelow and through them one could see the sky. The whole thing looked\nlike the bright-blue shape of an armed phantom cast upon the pale,\nyellow sky.\n\n\"O Lord, forsake us not!\" murmured the terrified and helpless crowd at\nthe sight of this strange apparition, which natural philosophers have\nseen so often and in so many places, and have since explained, though\nthey know neither the why nor the wherefore of it.\n\nThe shapes of men far away swam forth into the sky, magnified into\ngigantic spirits of the mist. Every moment fresh and fresh shapes\nemerged from the a\u00ebrial billows, all of them armed giants. Some only\nemerged from the surface of the delusive sea as far as the bodies of\ntheir horses; of others one could only see the heads and shoulders; some\nhad their shadows joined on to their bodies, others showed double\nshadows glued together at different ends with heads, arms, and weapons\nturned upwards and downwards, and suddenly the whole thing slowly\ndissolved, and nought remained behind in the sky but two broad\nwheel-like spokes, two bright-blue ribbons of light on a misty,\nyellowish background, shining upwards from the earth.\n\n\"Alas, alas! the Turks and Tartars are lying in wait for us,\" exclaimed\nthe women, confused, terrified, without friend or counsellor, in the\nmidst of the wilderness.\n\nThe mothers clasped their children to their breasts, the girls scattered\nabout their precious kerchiefs and ornaments, that while the robbers\nwere picking them up they themselves might have time to escape. Every\none believed that the danger was at their very heels.\n\n\"Let's be off! Let's be off! By the B\u00f6sz\u00f6rm\u00e9ny road! Let us fly through\nthe pasture lands! Hasten! hasten!\"\n\nThe mob of poor desperate creatures turned aside from the road; the\nwaggons, greatly to the damage of the horses, plunged along over the\nfields where there was no sign of a track. Nobody sang any more now,\nwhether songs or hymns, but a pious soul here and there sighed in secret\nas she looked behind her, first into the formidable distance, and then\nup into the familiar sky. \"Thou, O Almighty,\" they whispered, \"Thou who\nin Thy heaven hath marvellously revealed to us the lying-in-wait of our\nevil foes, defend us, Thy poor weak servants, from our evil pursuers,\nwho have none to trust in save Thee alone, O God of heaven!\"\n\nAnd, indeed, the Lord was to work yet other marvels that day.\n\nAs the flying women were still looking timorously behind them, the\nsportive phenomena suddenly disappeared from earth and sky; on the\nbreak-up of the Fata Morgana the horizon became sharply visible again,\nand the birch forests of Hadh\u00e1z loomed forth faintly blue in the\ndistance. Clouds with sharply defined silver linings arose in the sky\nfrom that direction as if the tempest were puffing gigantic frothy\nbubbles before it; gradually the horizon grew darker and darker,\ndark-blue clouds came crowding up one on the top of another; it was as\nthough a deep voice in the distance were roaring: \"Fly, fly!\"\n\nAnd the waggons went jingling and clattering along towards the confines\nof Sz\u00f6rmeny.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBadrul Beg had now been lying in ambush in the forest of Hadh\u00e1z for two\ndays. He had performed everything which Kuczuk Pasha had commanded him\nin his own way. Every one from whom he had inquired the way he had cut\ndown immediately after he had done him that service, so that he should\nnot betray him. Every one of his band was forced to remain on the spot\nwhere he stood, nobody was allowed to quit the forest, and every\ninhabitant of the environs who happened to stray thither accidentally\ndied before he could betray what he had seen. They were all shot down by\narrows, arrows which utter no sound, and never brag of their heroic\ndeeds as the big-mouthed guns do.\n\nNobody should betray them, nobody should carry tidings concerning them\nto the women and girls of Debreczen. And God?--Ah! He sees these women\nthus hastening to destruction, He looks at them through the mirror of\nthe Fata Morgana, and hides from them the crafty snare laid for them in\nthe very nick of time. Blessed be the name of the Lord!\n\nOn the evening of the third day the sentinels stationed on the border of\nthe forest informed Badrul Beg that far off in the _puszta_ a long line\nof dust could be seen, as if hundreds and hundreds of waggons were\ncoming along one after another.\n\n\"It is they!\"\n\nBadrul Beg mounted to the top of a hillock, that he might see for\nhimself--perchance he was the enormous giant whose misty form had first\nappeared in the sky, with the quiver on his shoulder and the peaked\nturban on his head.\n\n\"It is they! Only let them come nearer! Nobody can warn them of their\ndanger--nobody!\"\n\nBut suddenly the approaching line of dust stops, remains stationary for\nsome moments, and then suddenly begins to start off sideways, and, so\nfar from slowly creeping on nearer, darts aside among the hedges with\ndart-like rapidity.\n\nBadrul Beg looked furiously around him. \"Which of you can have betrayed\nus to them?\" he cried.\n\nAs if suddenly answering his question, the whole forest fell a-soughing.\nThe tall, slim birch trees began to rustle and shiver; a frightful\nhurricane had arisen over the plain, howling and roaring, and enveloping\nthe whole firmament with clouds of yellow dust.\n\nBadrul was not used to fear the tempest--Kuczuk Pasha did not allow him\nto.\n\n\"Forward with your lances!\" he cried to his horsemen. \"Split the tempest\nwith the points of them! After those fugitives! Out upon the open\nplain!\"\n\nHah! but out on the plain there it was another Master who commanded now.\nIn the midst of the open country, midway between pursuers and pursued,\ncame scudding along the bride of the tempest, the wild whirlwind, that\nslim fairy who dances so majestically right over the smooth plain with\nher comet-like head among the clouds, as if her scattered locks were\nfloating there, while her legs, like spindles, were twirling in the\ndust. She sways to the left, curtseying with her slim body, and throwing\nback her defiant head ever higher and higher. Woe to all frail and\nperishable creatures who come in her way, for she will tear them to\npieces and scatter them abroad. The roofs of houses, haystacks,\nprominent trees, if once they are caught in the savage sweep of her\ngarment, she hurls up to the sky, and then dashes to the earth again\nwith furious caprice. After her, murmuring and growling, comes her angry\nbridegroom--the thunderstorm--who pursues his defiant bride with a fiery\nwhip in his hand; with his whip he will scourge her if he catches her.\nAh! the love of the elemental spirits is terrible.\n\nThe whirlwind in an instant enveloped the band of Badrul Beg in such a\ncloud of dust that nobody knew from thenceforth whether he were going\nbackwards or forwards. The air was darkened. One horseman could not see\nhis next fellow for the whirling dust, in whose murkiness he could not\neven distinguish the lightning flashes, he could only hear the\napproaching thunder as it rolled along the sky, shook the earth, and\nsilenced the savage howl of the tempest.\n\nBadrul Beg's charger reared beneath him, the wind took the turban from\nhis head and tore the pennant from his lance.\n\n\"Ah, thou god--thou God of the Magyars!\" thundered the Moor, shaking his\nfist at the sky. \"Thou hast taken the part of Thine own people, but for\nall that Thou shalt not save them from me!\"\n\nAt the very moment when the presumptuous wretch uttered this blasphemy,\na stony substance smote his shoulder, so that his arm hung down benumbed\nat his side.\n\nWhat was that?\n\nNothing but a large piece of ice, coming before the rest by way of\nwarning. Immediately afterwards heaven discharged, as from slings, its\nrattling, clattering stones, jagged lumps of ice came plunging down from\nthe sky. Some of them were like birds' eggs, others like transparent\nnuts, others like the heads of spiked clubs, ten little pieces all glued\ntogether, with a murderous lump in the middle of a pound's weight. The\nlightning flashed incessantly, sending its messages from one quarter of\nthe heavens to the other, the ice-flogged earth in the distant plain\ngave forth a sound as if it were about to collapse beneath the falling\nsky.\n\n\"Allah Kerim! Allah Akbar!\" exclaimed the freebooters, vainly flying\nfrom the pursuant hailstones, which smote them down from every side with\nfrightful velocity. The neighing of the tortured and terrified horses\nmade the din still more terrible, and the boldest were dismayed by the\nsweeping lightning flashes which plunged down among them with fiery\nheads, illuminating the dense body of hail which seemed to have\ndissolved into millions of diamonds and silver bullets in its descent\nfrom above.\n\n\"There is no deliverance save with the 'Lord God!'\" howled the Turks.\nAnd off they plunged whithersoever their horses took them, some in the\ndirection of the forest they had just quitted, where the wind-shattered\ntrees received them, others galloped on still further, and plunged into\na stream which the water-spout within an hour had swollen into a raging\nriver. Others again, flying before the hurricane, fell right within its\npath, were struck down and scattered about miles away. When the tempest\nhad passed over, Badrul Beg could only find fifty horsemen. Of these\nabout twenty lay dead on the ground, scattered far and wide, with\nfrightful wounds on their foreheads, twisted limbs and broken legs; in\nsome cases horse and rider had been struck dead together, others had\nbeen so buried by the ice that only their hands appeared above the\nfrozen mass. The whole plain presented the spectacle of a desert strewn\nover with stones and pebbles of different sizes, but all equally white\nand cold.\n\nThe sons of the Ethiopian palm desert had never seen ice before.\n\n\"Lo! what wonders befall in this earth!\" said Badrul Beg, in his dismay.\n\"Who can fight against Heaven? The God of the Magyars works miracles on\ntheir behalf! Allah defend us from the wrath of this strange god!\"\n\nNevertheless, he was not quite certain whether Kuczuk Pasha would be\ninclined to believe him if he were to return with a shattered host after\nletting the women go. How _could_ he believe from mere hearsay a marvel\nthe like of which no true believer had ever heard? But he could have no\nsurer witness than these iron trunks, which he had brought with him to\nhold the jewels of the captured women, if he filled them with the cold\nwhite stones slung by the celestial slings; when he saw those the Pasha\nmust give credence even to a story bordering upon the marvellous.\n\nSo he nicely filled four large trunks right up to the brim with ice, and\nbinding them on the backs of two horses, himself trotted after them. For\nthe sake of greater security, he kept the keys of all the boxes himself,\nand sealed up their locks with sealing-wax.\n\nIt took him a couple of days to get back to Grosswardein, for he went a\nbit out of his way to collect together his scattered soldiers; and a\nsorry lot they were, with their broken limbs, battered heads, and black\nand blue bodies. All the time a burning sun shone down upon them from\nmorn to eve, and the water was dripping from under the iron trunks, and\nexhaling in vapour from above them at the same time. On reaching\nGrosswardein, he appeared before Kuczuk Pasha with a broken arm and a\ndowncast face, and told him the whole story, the very telling of which\nmade him tremble.\n\nKuczuk Pasha's face grew very wrath at this fairy tale, and not a word\nof it would he believe. Then Badrul Beg had the iron trunks brought\nforward to corroborate him, that he might see with his own eyes the\nstones of the celestial slingers.\n\nAnd lo! when the seals were broken and the locks were opened, there was\nnothing at all in the trunks. There was not a trace of the celestial\nstones.\n\nBadrul Beg rent his clothes.\n\n\"Merciful Allah!\" he cried, \"lo! the God of the Magyars has caused to\ndisappear from the locked boxes the stones with which he stoned my\nwarriors to death!\"\n\n\"Miserable coward!\" thundered Kuczuk Pasha, who did not believe a single\nword of it all. \"I suppose the meaning of it is that those valiant\namazons have given you a good drubbing?\"\n\nWhereupon they led Badrul Beg forth from his presence, and hung him up\nin front of the gate, and there he hung till evening. As for the Moors\nwho were with him, they were first decimated, and then the rest had\ntheir ears cut off and were sent to Belgrade.\n\nBut the women of Debreczen at the very same time returned unharmed to\nthe arms of their dear ones. To the very end of his life Kuczuk Pasha\nfirmly believed that it was they who had drubbed Badrul Beg so roundly,\nand from henceforth he held them in the greatest respect.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis story is recorded in the archives of the noble city of Debreczen,\nand ye who read thereof reflect that God still exists, and that He is\nalways able to defend His chosen from His high heaven, and now also His\narm is not shortened.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nTHE COMPULSORY DIVERSION--AN OLD BARON'S YARN\n\n\nI wonder, my dear fellows, if any of you know the Countess Stephen\nRepey, the younger one I mean, not the old lady, that little Creole\nprincess--my little black-eyed cobold, as I call her? Mine indeed, pish!\nI don't mean that, of course. That is only a _fa\u00e7on de parler_. All of\nus, my dear fellows, as you very well know, have sighed after her\nenough, at some time or other, but none of you have had, like me, the\nluck to travel at night with her in the same coach. Well, naturally, her\nmaid was there too. Still it was a great bit of luck all the same. But\nno more of such luck for me, thank you.\n\nOne day, at her castle of K\u00e9rekv\u00e1r, it suddenly occurred to the\nCountess, quite late in the evening, that the Casino ball at Arad[8] was\ncoming off on the morrow, and she must be there at all hazards. No\nsooner said than done. The horses were put to at once, and as there was\nnobody with her but me, she said: \"I pray you, my dear Baron, be so good\nas to escort me to Arad.\"\n\n     [Footnote 8: The Cheltenham of Hungary.]\n\nWell, when it came to \"dear Baron,\" what on earth could I say?\n\"Countess! _ma d\u00e9esse_, it is very dark; we shall only get upset and\nbreak our legs, and how can we dance with broken legs? We shall have to\ncross the three K\u00f6r\u00f6s rivers, the bridge over one of them is sure to be\ncrazy as usual, and in we shall plump. Then at Szalenta we shall have to\npass through the deuce of a wood, full of robbers, and I shall never be\nable to defend you single-handed against the whole lot of them. And\nbesides, what need is there to hurry? Early to-morrow morning, after a\nnice cup of tea, you have only to step into your carriage, your four bay\nhorses will fly with us to Arad, and by the evening you will be quite\nready with your toilet.\"\n\nThat's what I said, but you know how it always is, try and persuade a\nwoman not to do a thing, and she'll insist on doing it all the more. She\ndidn't want to drive her horses to death, she said, and whoever heard of\nwanting to rest after a short journey like that. Besides, she loved so\nto travel by night. What with the stars and the frogs, it was so\nbeautiful, so romantic, and much more such stuff. But bless you, that\nwas a mere pretext. The fact was, she had suddenly got the idea into her\ndarling little noddle, and nothing in heaven or earth could turn her\nfrom her purpose.\n\n_Enfin_, I was between two stools. I had either to go with her or remain\nalone in the castle. Of course I chose the former alternative,\nespecially after she gave me permission to sit opposite to her in the\ncoach.\n\nI enjoyed myself splendidly, I can tell you. The Countess, by degrees,\nabsolutely loaded me with her favours. First of all she put her handbag\nin my lap, to which she presently added a muff; next she hung a\nreticule upon my arm; finally she entrusted to me a couple of\nband-boxes, after that she fell asleep. I could have asked anything I\nliked of her, especially when the coach stumbled and she awoke in terror\nand began asking for all her belongings one after another, dozing off\nagain when she was quite sure they were all there. Later on, the\nlady's-maid began to groan: \"O Lord! how my head aches!\"--whereupon I\nalso pretended to fall asleep.\n\nSuddenly we all started up in alarm, the coach had suddenly moved\nsideways, and then come to a dead stop as if it had fallen into a ditch.\n\nMy Countess also awoke and asked, stupidly, what was the matter.\n\nThe lackey leaped from the box and came to the carriage window.\n\n\"Your ladyship, I am afraid we have lost our way.\"\n\n\"Well, what of that?\" said the Countess; \"we can't stop here; there's a\nroad in front of us, I suppose, and we are bound to arrive somewhere if\nwe only follow it.\"\n\n\"Yes, but----\"\n\n\"Yes, but--what do you mean? The road must lead somewhere, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Saving your ladyship's presence, we are in the Szalenta wood.\"\n\n\"Well, the Szalenta wood is no trackless wilderness. We shall get to the\nend of it in a couple of hours.\"\n\n\"Yes, your ladyship, but the coachman is afraid.\"\n\n\"The coachman! What business has he to be afraid? there's nothing about\nthat in his contract, is there?\"\n\n\"He's afraid of some mischief befalling your ladyship.\"\n\n\"What has the coachman to do with me, I should like to know?\"\n\nHere I thought it my duty to intervene.\n\n\"Countess, _ma d\u00e9esse_, this is no joke. This comes, you see, of\nnocturnal excursions. Here we are camping out in the middle of a forest,\nand the robbers who abound in this forest will come and take our horses,\nour money, and our lives. I only wish I had a revolver.\"\n\nBut the little demon only laughed, and, before I could prevent it, she\nhad opened the coach door and leaped out.\n\n\"Oh! what a splendid night. How fragrant the forest is; how the\nglow-worms sparkle in the grass. Have you no eyes, Baron?\"\n\nEyes, indeed! when I couldn't see three paces before me for the\ndarkness.\n\n\"But surely I see something shining through the trees over there,\" she\ncontinued.\n\nMy blood grew cold within me. We were approaching some robbers' den\nevidently.\n\nThe coachman answered the question from his box with the voice of a man\nwho is already being throttled.\n\n\"That, your ladyship, is the pot-house which the country people call the\n'guest-detaining _cs\u00e1rd\u00e1_.'\"[9]\n\n     [Footnote 9: Inn.]\n\n\"Guest detaining! Bravo! The very thing for us. Let's hasten thither.\"\n\nI was desperate. \"For God's sake, Countess, what would you do? Why, that\n_cs\u00e1rd\u00e1_ is a notorious resort of thieves, where they would kill the\nwhole lot of us; a regular murder-hole, whose landlord is hand in glove\nwith all the ruffians of the district, and where numbers and numbers of\npeople have come to an evil end.\"\n\nThe naughty girl only laughed at me. She told me I had read all these\nhorrors in the story-books, and there was not a word of truth in any of\nthem. She admitted, indeed, that if there had been another inn she would\nhave gone to that in preference, but as this was the only one we had no\nchoice. She then ordered the coachman to drive the horses along very\ngingerly, while she went before on foot to show him the way.\n\nEvery lamentation and objection was useless, we had to stumble along in\nthe direction of that cursed _cs\u00e1rd\u00e1_, for she threatened to go alone if\nwe were afraid to come too.\n\nIt is a fact that that naughty little fairy was afraid of nothing.\n\nWhen we drew nearer to the _cs\u00e1rd\u00e1_, a merry hullabooing sort of music\nsuddenly struck upon our ears, though all the windows were closed by\nshutters.\n\n\"_Mon Dieu!_ it is absolutely _full_ of robbers.\"\n\n\"You see how it is,\" remarked the Countess, mischievously; \"we started\nto go to a ball, and at a ball we have arrived. _No_ one, you see, can\navoid his fate\"--and thereupon, with appalling foolhardiness, she\nmarched straight towards the door.\n\nFor a moment I really thought I should have turned tail, left her there,\nand made a bolt of it. But, _noblesse oblige_. And besides, I couldn't,\nfor Mademoiselle Cesarine, the lady's-maid, had gripped my arm so\ntightly that I was powerless to release myself. The poor creature was\nmore than half dead with fright; at any rate, she was only half alive\nwhen we followed the Countess together.\n\nEven outside the door we could hear quite distinctly the wild\ndance-music and the merry uproar proceeding from a parcel of men inside;\nbut my Countess was not a bit put out by it. Boldly she opened the door\nand stepped into the _cs\u00e1rd\u00e1_.\n\nIt was a large, long, dirty, whitewashed room, where in my first terror\nI could see about fifty men dancing about. Subsequently, when I was able\nto count them, there turned out to be only nine of them, including the\nlandlord, who did not dance, and three gipsies who provided the music.\nBut it seemed to me that five stalwart ruffians were quite enough to\ndeal with our little party.\n\nThey were all tall fellows, who could easily hit the girders of the roof\nwith their clenched fists, and strapping fellows too, with big, broad\nshoulders; their five muskets were piled up together in a corner.\n\nWell, we were in a pretty tight place, it seemed to me. The rascals when\nthey saw us instantly left off dancing, and seemed to be amazed at our\naudacity. But my Countess said to them, with a charming smile--\n\n\"Forgive me, my friends, for interrupting your pastime. We have lost our\nway, and as we couldn't go any further in the dark, we have come here\nfor shelter, if you will give it to us.\"\n\nAt these words one of the fellows, sprucer and slimmer a good deal than\nthe others, gave his spiral moustache an extra twirl, took off his\nvagabond's hat, clapped his heels together, and made my Countess a\nprofound bow. He assured her she was not inconveniencing them in the\nleast; on the contrary, they would be very glad of her society. \"I am\nthe master here,\" he added, \"J\u00f3zsi Fekete\" (the famous robber, by the\nway), \"at your ladyship's service. But who, then, is your ladyship?\"\n\nBefore I could pull the Countess's mantilla to prevent her from blurting\nout who she was, she had already replied: \"I am the Countess Repey, from\nK\u00e9rekv\u00e1r.\"\n\n\"Then I am indeed fortunate,\" said the rascal. \"I knew the old Count. He\nfired after me with a double musket on one occasion, though he did not\nhit me. Pray sit down, Countess.\"\n\nA pleasant introduction, I must say.\n\nThe Countess sat down on a bench, the fellow beside her; me they didn't\nask to take a seat at all.\n\n\"And where did your ladyship think of going on such a night?\"\n\n(I winked at her: \"Don't tell him.\")\n\n\"We were going to Arad, to the Casino ball.\"\n\n(\"Adieu all our jewels,\" I thought.)\n\n\"Oh, then you have come here just at the nick of time. Your ladyship\nneed not go a step further, for we are giving a ball here, if you do not\ndespise our invitation. We have very good gipsy musicians--the Szalenta\nband, you know. They can play splendid _cs\u00e1rd\u00e1ses_.\"\n\nThe rascal didn't stand on ceremony in the least, but no sooner did\nthey begin dashing off the _cs\u00e1rd\u00e1s_, than he threw his buttoned dolman\nhalf over his shoulder, and seizing the Countess round the waist,\ntwirled her off amidst the lot of them.\n\nAnother fellow immediately hastened up to Mademoiselle Cesarine, and\nravished her away in a half-fainting condition; but she had no need to\nthink of herself, for she was passed from one hand to another so that\nher feet never touched the ground.\n\nAs for my Countess, she excelled herself. She danced with as much fire\nand vivacity as if she were sweeping over the waxed floor of the\nassembly rooms at Arad. Never have I seen her so amiable, so charming,\nas she was at that moment. I have seen Hungarian dances at other times,\nand have always been struck by their quaintness, but nobody ever showed\nme how much there was really in them as that good-for-nothing rascal\nshowed me then.\n\nFirst of all he paced majestically round with his partner, as if this\nwere the proudest moment of his life, gazing haughtily down upon her\nfrom over his shoulder; then he would shout down the music when at its\nloudest--and it was pretty loud too--and emerge from the midst of the\nthrong after his partner, she all the time swaying modestly backwards\nand forwards before him, like a butterfly which touches every flower but\nlights on none; and, indeed, I am only speaking the truth when I say\nthat her feet never seemed to touch the earth. The fellow, foppishly\nenough, would keep bending towards her as if he were about to embrace\nher on the spot, and then would stop short, stamping with one foot and\nflinging back his head haughtily, alluring the enchanting little fairy\nhither and thither after him. Sometimes he would rush right up to her as\nif about to cast himself upon her bosom, and then, with a sudden twirl,\nwould be far away from her again, and only the glances of their eyes\nshowed that they were partners. Presently, as if in high dudgeon, he\nwould turn away from his partner, plant himself right in front of the\ngipsy musicians, and prance furiously up and down before them, and after\nthus dancing away his anger, suddenly patter back to the Countess, and\nseize and whirl her round and round as if he were a hurricane and she a\nleaping flame.\n\nDuring this spacious pastime I was constantly agonized by the thought\nthat perhaps this mad rogue in his excitement might permit himself some\nunbecoming demonstration towards the Countess. The temptation you know\nwas great. The Countess was entirely in his power, the fellow was a\ngallows-bird, with the noose half round his neck already; an extra\nmisdeed or two, more or less, could do him no further harm. I was firmly\nresolved that if he insulted the Countess by the least familiarity, I\nwould make a rush for the piled-up muskets, seize one of them, and shoot\nthe villainous trifler dead. I affirm on my honour that this I was\nfirmly resolved to do.\n\nBut there was no necessity for it. The dancers finished the three\ndances, the robber-chief politely conducted his partner back to her\nplace, and respectfully kissed her hand, after thanking her heartily for\nher kindness; and with that he approached me, and amicably tapping me on\nthe shoulder, inquired--\n\n\"Well, old chap, can't _you_ dance?\"\n\nFancy calling me old chap.\n\n\"Thank you,\" I said, \"I cannot.\"\n\n\"More's the pity;\" and back he went to the Countess.\n\n\"I beg your ladyship's pardon,\" he began, \"for not being sufficiently\nprepared for the reception of such distinguished guests, but I hope you\nwill indulgently accept what we have to offer you; it is not much, but\nit is good.\"\n\nSo he meant to give us not only the ball, but the supper after it.\n\nAnd a splendid banquet it was, I must say. A large caldron full of\nstewed calf's flesh was produced, put upon the long table, and we all\ntook our places round it. Of plates and dishes there was no trace. Every\none used his own claws, by which I mean to say that, with a hunk of\nbread in one hand, and a clasp-knife in the other, we fished up our\nmarrow-bones from the caldron itself.\n\nAs for my Countess, she fell to as if she had been starving for three\ndays. The robber-chief fished up for her, with his brass-studded\nclasp-knife, the reddest morsels of flesh (they literally swam in\npepper), and piled them up on her white roll. It was something splendid,\nI can tell you.\n\nSuddenly it occurred to the rascal that _I_ was not eating.\n\n\"Fall to, old chap,\" said he. \"Stolen goods make the fattest dishes, you\nknow.\"\n\nNice company, eh?\n\n\"Thank you, I can't eat it; it is too much peppered,\" I said.\n\n\"All right; so much the more for us.\"\n\nThe wine, naturally, was sent round _in the flask_; not a glass was to\nbe seen. J\u00f3zsi Fekete, as is the way with boors, first drank from the\nflask himself, and then, having wiped the mouth of it with his wide\nshirt-sleeve, presented it to the Countess. And, bless my heart, she\ntook it, and drank out of it. An amazing woman, really!\n\nThen the flippant rogue turned to me, and offered me a drink.\n\n\"Come, drink away, old chap,\" he said (why always harp upon my grey\nhairs), \"for of course you are going to make a night of it.\"\n\n\"Thank you, I cannot drink. I'm a teetotaler,\" I said.\n\nI was now thoroughly convinced that they were going to drink themselves\nmad drunk preparatory to knocking our brains out. And, indeed, they did\ndrink a cask of wine between the five of them, yet when they rose from\nthe table not one of them so much as staggered.\n\nWhile they were treating the gipsies, the robber-chief approached me\nagain.\n\n\"Well, old chap\" (devil take him with his old chap!), \"so you neither\neat, nor drink, nor dance, eh? How, then, do you amuse yourself? Do you\nplay cards?\"\n\nAnd with that he produced a pack from his pocket. So he wanted to find\nout how much money I had in my pocket, eh?\n\n\"I know no game at cards.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll pretty soon teach you one. It is quite easy. Look, now! I\nput one card here and another card there. You lay upon this, and I lay\nupon that, and whichever of us draws a court card of the corresponding\nsuit takes the stake.\"\n\nThe rascal was actually teaching _me_ _Landsknecht_, and I was obliged\nto pretend to learn from him.\n\nWhat could I do? I was obliged to sit down and play with him. I had in\nmy pocket a lot of coppers. I thought I might as well risk them, so I\nput them on the table.\n\n\"What! We don't play for browns here! We are not bumpkins. Here's the\nbank!\" and with that he flung upon the table a whole heap of silver\nflorins and gold ducats.\n\nI also had a few small silver coins in my purse, and, with much fear and\ntrembling, I placed one of them on the first card. He dealt out, and I\nwon the stake. The rascal paid up. Not for the world would I have taken\nup the money, I left it where it was. A second and a third time I won.\nAgain I did not gather my stakes. The fourth, fifth, sixth time, every\ntime, in fact, fortune smiled on me. I began to perspire. It is a\nfrightful situation when a man plays cards with a scoundrel and wins his\nmoney continually. The seventh stake also was mine. By this time a whole\narmy of silver coins stood before me. A cold sweat began to trickle down\nmy temples. Why couldn't I be as lucky as this at Presburg, at the club,\nduring the session of the Diet? Again I staked the whole lot, inwardly\npraying that I might lose it all. In vain, for the eighth time I won. I\nwas a doomed man, there could be no doubt about it. The rascal smiled,\nand said: \"Well, old chap, you cannot very well be in love with the\npretty Countess, for you win at cards so shamefully.\" The rascal even\ndared to chaff me. I trembled in every limb when the ninth deal began.\nYes, sure enough, again it fell to my share. The robber struck the table\nwith his fist, and laughed aloud. \"Well, old chap,\" he cried, \"if you go\non winning like this I shall lose the whole county of Bihar in an hour's\ntime,\" and with that he pocketed what money remained and rose from the\ntable. I took my courage in both hands and ventured to offer him the\nmoney I had won. The fellow looked me up and down as haughtily as a\nHidalgo. \"What do you take me for?\" said he; \"pick up your winnings at\nonce or I'll pitch you and them out of doors.\" Good heavens! what was I\nto do with all this money? money enough to be murdered for, and I had no\ndoubt they _would_ beat me to death for it presently. I took it all and\ngave it to the gipsy musicians. And only after I had done it did I\nreflect what a foolish thing it was to do. For how could I more clearly\nhave betrayed the fact that I was indeed a man of unlimited means?\n\nThe silly gipsies thereupon gathered round me and insisted upon playing\nme an air. What was my favourite air, they asked? I got out of it by\nreferring them to the Countess. I told them to play _her_ favourite air,\nand she would accompany it with her voice.\n\nThe Countess certainly did not require much pressing. She began to sing\nwith her delightful siren voice--\n\n    \"Summer and winter, the _puszta_[10] is my dwelling,\"\n\n     [Footnote 10: The Hungarian heath.]\n\nand so sweetly, so enchantingly did she sing, that I quite forgot my\nsurroundings and fancied I was in a private box at the Budapest casino.\nI actually began to applaud.\n\nThe robber-chief also applauded. And now he said he would teach the\nCountess _his_ favourite song. And then the madcap rascal roared out\nsome rustic melody which certainly _I_ had never heard before.\n\n\"Well, old chap,\" he said, when he had finished, \"it is now your turn to\nsing us something.\"\n\nI was in a terrible pother. _I_ sing? I _sing_ in that hour of mortal\nanguish? I, who didn't know a single note except \"Home, Sweet Home.\"\n\n\"I can't sing at all,\" I said. And that wicked, frivolous woman began\nlaughing at me frightfully, as involuntarily I fell a-humming an air\nfrom some opera. I may mention I have a horrible hoarse sort of voice,\nnot unlike a peacock's.\n\n\"If you won't sing,\" she said to me in French, \"we shall all be\ninsulted, see if we don't.\"\n\nWhat could I do? With the dart of terror in my heart, and the pressure\nof mortal fear in my throat, I piped forth my \"Home, Sweet Home.\" I felt\nall along I was making a woeful mess of it. Up to the middle of the song\nthe Countess behaved with great decorum; but just as I was working my\nway up to the most pathetic part, and brought out a most cruel flourish,\nshe burst out laughing, and the whole band of robbers began to laugh\nwith her, till at last I also was obliged to smile, though, oddly\nenough, there was no joke in it at all, as far as I could see.\n\nThen they fell to dancing again. The Countess was indefatigable. And so\nit went on till broad daylight. When the sun shone through the windows\nshe said to the robber how obliged she was for the entertainment, but\nenough was as good as a feast, and would he, therefore, put to the\nhorses and let us be off?\n\nWell, now at last we shall all be knocked on the head straightway, I\nthought.\n\nThe robber went out, hunted up the coachman and the lackey, gave the\nnecessary orders, and came back to say the carriage was awaiting us.\n\nNo doubt they meant to shoot us down on the road.\n\nI got into the carriage far more alarmed than I was when I got out of\nit. It was a suspicious circumstance that he did not separate me from my\ncompanion. Evidently they intended to make sure of us and murder us all\ntogether.\n\nThe rascal himself took horse, galloped along by the side of our\ncarriage, and conducted us to the turnpike-road, so as to put us on our\nway. Then he raised his cap, wished us a merry evening, and galloped\nback again.\n\nOnly when we came to Zerind did I venture to believe that I was alive.\nOnly then did I begin to reproach the Countess for involving us in an\nadventure which might have ended miserably enough. Suppose, I said,\nthese rascals had not been afraid of me? Why, then they might have\npractised all sorts of _sottises_ upon her. And then to dance with\nvagabonds in a _cs\u00e1rd\u00e1_ till dawn of day! Unpardonable!\n\nAll the way to Arad I was indulging myself with the hope that if I was\nvery civil to the Countess she would not give me away by revealing the\nsecret of this disreputable adventure. At six o'clock we reached Arad,\nand as we dismounted at the door of the reception-room, she told three\nof my acquaintances what had befallen us. Of course every one speedily\nknew of our misadventure. So I was not even able to tell the story my\nown way.\n\nAnd, again, she was the loveliest woman at the ball. And she knew it,\nand that was one of the chief reasons why she came. It is true she did\nnot dance a step. She excused herself by saying she was tired to death.\nI can well believe it. From midnight to dawn she had danced nineteen\n_cs\u00e1rd\u00e1ses_. Why, I, who hadn't danced at all, could hardly stand on my\nlegs.\n\nAs for me, I hastened to the card-room. Now that fortune has embraced\nyou, hug her tight, I thought to myself. At one table they were playing\n_Landsknecht_. \"Now's your time--make a plunge,\" I said to myself. But I\nhad the most cursed luck. I lost a thousand florins straight off.\nFortune evidently only pursues you when she sees that you are afraid of\nher.\n\nSix months later I came across a newspaper in which was an account of\nthe summary conviction and execution, by hanging, of the famous\nrobber-chief, J\u00f3zsi.\n\nI took the newspaper to the Countess Stephen Repey, and showed it to\nher.\n\n\"Fancy,\" she said, when she had read the case through, \"and such a good\ndancer as he was, too.\"\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nTHE SHERIFF OF CASCHAU--A FRAGMENT OF AN OLD CHRONICLE[11]\n\n\n     [Footnote 11: The idea of this story was subsequently\n     expanded into the novel \"Pretty Michal.\"]\n\nIt happened the same year that, in the place of old Tobias Kesmarki, the\nhundred electors of the city of Caschau, to wit, forty-five Hungarians,\nforty Germans, and fifteen Wends, after due deliberation and by common\nconsent, elected as Sheriff his Honour Michael D\u00f3ronczius, as being a\nman of understanding and blameless life, and respected by all men.\n\nThe hundred burgesses, having so done, went forth in solemn procession,\nheaded by their Honours the F\u00fcrmenders[12] and the Conrector, to the\nburial-ground outside the gates, where the whole ground was thickly\nstrewn with straw, it being Water Cross Day,[13] when it is sore cold,\nand the feet of men grow numb in the very council chamber.\n\n     [Footnote 12: Guardians of the orphans and poor.]\n\n     [Footnote 13: The Feast of the Epiphany.]\n\nBut it was the custom that the newly elected Sheriff should always be\ndug into his office in the churchyard, where humanity is least of all\ndisturbed by official cares, nay, where, rather, the bulging tombs all\naround bid him remember that righteousness and good deeds alone abide\nupon the earth, while all else turns to dust.\n\nWherefore, with no accompaniment of music, the Sheriff elect and the\nretiring Sheriff, accompanied by the town councillors, proceed to the\nchurchyard to perform this ceremony, standing within the gate of the\nchurchyard, there to await the masters of the City Guilds coming with\ntheir salutations.\n\nAll of them came in procession to meet the Sheriff elect, with the\nbadges of their respective Guilds. One by one they salute the new\nSheriff, but none of them give him gifts; they do but show them to him,\nand then take them back again, to signify that he hath first to deserve\nthese same gifts before he receive them.\n\nFirst of all the millers approach him and exhibit to him a fine white\nloaf of well-winnowed wheat, and say--\n\n\"We will nourish thee with fine white loaves after this sort, if thou\nwilt be a faithful Sheriff unto us.\"\n\nThen the vintners, who in those days were a rich and goodly Guild,\naddress him in like manner, and exhibit to him a cask of red wine.\n\nIn like manner the weavers, the furriers, and the cobblers all allured\nthe new Sheriff with the hope of receiving of their masterpieces, to\nwit, beautiful white pieces of cloth, rich cambric, shaggy furs, and\nbravely embroidered shoes, if so be he remain faithful to their city to\nthe end of his term.\n\nLast of all come the carpenters, who exhibit to the new Sheriff a\nbrand-new waggon, to which horses are harnessed, filled with smoothly\nplaned boards.\n\nAnd when the master of the Guild of Carpenters stands before the\nSheriff, he thus addresses him--\n\n\"Behold, now, we have piled up this brave heap of hornbeams that we may\nburn thee therewith if thou do betray us.\"\n\nIt was usual to say this on the occasion of the election of a Sheriff in\nthe city of Caschau, and nobody was offended thereby. For in those sad\ntimes we were often forced to defend our cities with fire and steel\nagainst foes of three different nations, whilst as a fourth enemy we\nreckoned the numerous freebooters, who had turned Turks after once being\nChristians, and prowled in the environs of the city at night, to snap up\nany women and children who might fall in their way and sell them to the\nTurks. And our fifth enemy were the malefactors lurking in the town\nitself; and our sixth enemy was the terrible pestilence which so often\nvisited our gates; while our seventh and most ancient adversary was the\ninfernal Evil One himself, from whom Heaven in its mercy defend us. Thus\nin those days the Sheriff had to defend the city against seven divers\nsorts of enemies, and see to it that they were all kept well outside the\ngates, wherefore he had to sustain many sieges, guard the walls day and\nnight, cudgel in fist, persecute evildoers, or threaten them with the\nterrible _h\u00e1rum palzarum_,[14] fumigate or steep in lye all goods\nbrought into the city by foreign chapmen, avert religious strife,\nfrustrate the wiles of Satan, always endeavouring to judge righteous\njudgments, neither for the sake of lucre nor because of any interior\nimpulse pronouncing any sentence which might call to Heaven for\nvengeance or make Hell applaud.\n\n     [Footnote 14: Gradually compressing the skull between\n     three sharp stakes till it burst.]\n\nNone feared lest his Honour Master D\u00f3ronczius should not prove just such\na Sheriff as the town desired, for he was a man with no visible flaw,\nand known to be a righteous, God-fearing man, of whom nobody could say\nan ill word.\n\nWherefore, after performing the usual time-honoured ceremony in the\nchurchyard, with great rejoicing and in solemn procession they brought\nback his Honour into the council chamber of the town hall, where, having\nset him down in a large velvet easy-chair, four aldermen, seizing the\nfour legs of the said easy-chair, raised it aloft, to the triumphant\nmusical accompaniment of the town trumpeters and the militia drums,\nwhile the people present shouted a threefold hurrah. Whereupon the whole\ntown council went in solemn procession to the churches, both Protestant\nand Roman Catholic, and everywhere sang a _Te Deum_ with great\nenthusiasm, and after listening to a sermon in Hungarian and a sermon in\nGerman, returned to the Sheriff's house to sit down to a great banquet,\nduring which the united choirs, conducted by the precentor, sang all\nmanner of delightful melodies, and towards evening platters of pitch\nwere ignited on the angles of the bastions, and the howitzers also were\nfired off.\n\nAnd the city of Caschau felt fully justified on the day of the election\nof its Sheriff in drinking so many barrels of wine and ditto beer with\ngreat rejoicing, because his Honour, Master D\u00f3ronczius, was quite\ncapable of so ordering every manner of business and difficulty that\nnobody had the least cause for anxiety.\n\nNevertheless, it so happened, late in the evening of the festival of St.\nPeter and St. Paul (next evening), that a couple of watchmen,\nWurmdrucker and Kebluska by name, to whom had been assigned the\npatrolling of the streets, while strolling round the large building\nknown as the Turkish lock-up house, perceived a figure enwrapped in a\nblack cloak come hastily out of a house, which figure, on perceiving\nthem, suddenly crouched down under the gate as if with the intent of\nhiding from them.\n\nNow, as they had had strict orders to arrest and lock up for the night\nin the nearest ward-house every living soul, good or bad, who should be\nfound in the streets without a lamp after the hour for closing the\ngates, which was proclaimed by a blast of horns from the top of the\ngreat tower--every such soul, if a gentleman, to be fined a thaler next\nmorning, or if a poor man, then half a thaler, or if he had nothing,\nthen to be well trounced--the two watchmen determined to seize and stop\nthe night wanderer thus confronting them. Wurmdrucker having a lamp made\nof some paper-like, compressible membrane, thereupon held it in front of\nhim that he might see the face of the unknown person, while Kebluska\nstretched his halberd out against him, and cried with a loud voice,\n\"Who's there?\" in Hungarian, German, and Slavonic, that he might be able\nto answer in one at least of the three languages of the town.\n\nBut the person so addressed replied in no language at all, but, having a\nlong stick in his hand, knocked the paper lamp out of Wurmdrucker's\nhand, so that it collapsed altogether, and would have run off then and\nthere had not Kebluska so thrust at him with his halberd that the point\nthereof went right through his cloak, pinning to the door of the house\nthe would-be fugitive, whom the two watchmen then seized, and tying his\nhands behind his back, urged him on before them to the ward-house hard\nby the Turkish prison, and there locked him up in the dark room, where\nthey were wont to keep the ashes.\n\nThe imprisoned vagabond would not tell his name, and the watchmen, not\nhaving a lamp, could not see his face, but all along he begged and\nprayed them to let him go free; he would give them ever so much money\nfor his freedom, he said.\n\nAt this the watchmen were even more afraid. They fancied they had got\nhold of some evil spy, and not for any amount of treasure would they\nhave let him out of their hands till morning, hoping to get a still\ngreater reward when they handed him over to the Sheriff. When he\npromised them a hundred ducats they felt sure that the Sheriff would\nreward them with two hundred, so in the morning they let out the\nprisoner in order to take him to the Sheriff, and lo! the prisoner\nwas--the Sheriff himself.\n\nSo much for their two hundred ducats. The two watchmen were speechless\nwith terror, they did not know what to say in their sudden amazement.\nMaster D\u00f3ronczius said nothing to them, but hastened home, and the same\nday, under some plausible pretext or other, perchance on a trumped-up\ncharge of brawling or blaspheming, seized and thrust both of them into\nthe prison called after Pontius Pilate, where so long as Master\nD\u00f3ronczius remained Sheriff they might be quite certain they would\nremain.\n\nNobody, therefore, at that time knew anything of their secret, for they\nmight just as well have been buried alive as imprisoned in the dungeon\nof Pontius Pilate.\n\nIn those days there lived in the city of Caschau a rich master-butcher,\nwhom they called Stephen S\u00e1ndor, who had two houses, one in the high\ntown and the other next door to the apothecary's, which had no common\nthatch, but instead of a roof a cupola made of pointed tiles, like an\nEgyptian pyramid. In those days the whole of the principal square was\nbuilt of such houses, with pointed cupolas, the quadrangular stones with\nwhich they were built being welded together with lead and iron clasps.\n\nThis rich butcher had an only son, Joseph by name, who had also been\nbrought up to be a master-butcher, and had just given proof of his\nmastery, and manfully too, for he had felled his bullock at the first\nstroke, and thus escaped the fine of a ducat per extra stroke imposed on\nbunglers.\n\nJoseph was indeed a stout, well-set-up fellow, yielding to none of his\nfellows in mettle; at pike-tilting he always kept in his saddle, and\nnever failed to carry off the Shrove Tuesday goose in triumph. Withal he\nwas an honest, diligent youth, and a regular church-goer; and when it\ncame to psalm singing, he out-bawled the whole congregation. Moreover,\nevery man loved and respected him, and never could it be said that he\ngave half an ounce less in the pound than he ought to have done.\n\nOn the day when this Joseph achieved his master-stroke, his father said\nto him: \"Be off, my son; it is high time. Look about the town a bit,\nand search for a befitting consort. Look not for property or wealth, but\nrather for a good heart and a pure spirit. These two things every man\nshould bring home; God will give the rest.\"\n\nThen Joseph confessed to his father that he had already chosen for\nhimself a worthy and beautiful maiden, an orphan from Eperies, Catharine\nby name, whose father and mother were dead, and who had put up at the\nhouse of an elder sister in the town. He would shorten the days of her\norphanhood, he said.\n\nOld Stephen S\u00e1ndor also knew personally the girl, as well as her\nguardian elder sister; both of them were good and gentle souls;\nCatharine, in particular, was such a mild and modest creature that one\nhad but to look at her to feel towards her an impulse of human\ntenderness.\n\nHer only fault was her great pallor. But this trouble every foreign girl\nwas exposed to who came to dwell at Caschau from the surrounding country\nor from other places, for there was something in the atmosphere of the\ntown or its drinking water from which the fair faces of foreigners\nderived this pallid hue, which went by the name of the \"Caschau\ncomplexion.\" And there was no escape from it save by quitting Caschau\nand going to other places, or else by taking to themselves a husband.\n\nSo the \"Caschau complexion\" was no great defect in Catharine's face,\nafter all, so soon as Joseph's father had agreed that his son should\ntake her to wife. After the marriage festivities it would vanish of its\nown accord, and the new wife would grow as rosy as the other pretty\ngirls of Caschau.\n\nSo Joseph immediately sent his witnesses to the house of Catharine's\nelder sister, and not long afterwards rings of espousal were exchanged\nbetween them, and the wedding-day was fixed for the market-day before\nthe festival of St. Vincent.\n\nThe wedding-day arrived, and the marriage took place with full\nceremonials. The bride was fetched from her sister's house, and conveyed\nto the House of God in a carriage drawn by four horses, with plumes and\ncoloured kerchiefs on the horses' heads, and thence to the house of the\nbridegroom through all the chief streets of the town, to the\naccompaniment of merry music; and every young man who saw the bride\nsitting in the beribboned carriage smiled and said to himself, \"What a\nCaschau complexion she has got.\"\n\nOn that day Catharine was paler than usual. In the church itself her\nsadness, her anguish, were observed generally. Once, when her bridegroom\ntook her hand, she burst into tears, and shrank timidly away from him.\nHer pallor, her timidity, her weeping, were, all of them, not unbecoming\nto a bride, so nobody was much struck thereby at the time.\n\nAfter the dancing came the ceremonial of conducting the bride and the\nbridegroom to the marriage bed, when the bridesman seized Catharine's\nhand, while two sword-girt youths went before them, two bridesmaids\nfollowing after with the bridegroom, and the musicians began to play a\ngentle, dreamy melody, to the music of which the two torch-bearing\nyouths and the two bridesmaids danced round the bridegroom and the\nbride, as if thereby the better to enlace them together, till they came\nto the bedroom, and there also they danced round them once more, each\nman taking his and each girl her fellow's hands, and then all together\nthey scampered out of the door, which they banged to behind them,\nleaving the young couple alone; but the music droned on outside ever\nmore softly, ever more gently, at last scarce audibly, as if it would\nimitate the whispering of the happy pair inside.\n\nBut no sooner were the bride and the bridegroom alone in the bridal\nchamber than Catharine quickly plucked the bridal wreath from her head,\ntore it desperately to pieces, and then, opening the window looking on\nto the courtyard, leaped out of it.\n\nThe astonished bridegroom, in the first moment of his surprise, did not\nknow what to do, but looking out after the girl, and perceiving that she\nwas making straight for the well at the top of her speed, he quickly\nrushed after her, and caught the wench at the very moment when she was\nabout to plunge down the well and kill herself outright.\n\nJoseph pressed the lass tightly in his strong arms so that she could do\nherself no harm, and asked her anxiously what was the matter, and why\nshe wanted to run away from him. At first the girl only sobbed, and\nbegged him to let her die; but inasmuch as the bridegroom would by no\nmeans consent thereto, the girl confessed something to him which made\nthe hairs of his head rise to heaven with horror; indeed, by the time\nthe girl had told him everything, the bridegroom also had fainted, and\nlay there at her feet.\n\nAnd within there, in the house of dancing, they were playing the dreamy\nmelody which imitates the lisping of happy lovers, and stately maids and\nstalwart lads were dancing together and singing:--\n\n    \"Dance, dance, the stately dance,\n     Wave, wave the rosy chain,\n     To knit together bride and groom.\"\n\nThe marriage came to nought. Catharine, half dead, was carried back to\nher sister's house, the bridal guests scattered in dismay. Nevertheless,\nJoseph said not a word of what Catharine had told him to any one, but\nmounted his horse, took a cudgel in one hand and a lance with a streamer\nto it in the other, and trotted off to the Sheriff's house. There,\nwithout leaving the saddle, he rattled at the gate with the point of the\nlance, and cried aloud in the hearing of all the people--\n\n\"Hearken, Michael D\u00f3ronczius! Here am I, Joseph S\u00e1ndor, sitting on\nhorseback, with lance and cudgel in my hands. Mount thy horse also, if\nthou be a man; take thy lance and thy cudgel and come out with me in the\nopen, there to fight together; thou knowest wherefore, but tell it to\nnone. Let God judge betwixt us.\"\n\nIt was an unheard-of audacity for a simple burgess to challenge the town\nSheriff himself to a tilting duel with cudgels and lances. The people\nlistened in amazement, but still more amazed were they when Master\nD\u00f3ronczius not only did not prosecute the audacious youth, but told the\nwatchmen to let him go in peace, as he must certainly be out of his\nwits.\n\nBut Joseph S\u00e1ndor, when D\u00f3ronczius would not come out of his house to\nfight with him in God's name, took a bladder lantern, hung it on the\npoint of his lance, hung beside it a ragged sheep-skin jacket and a\npair of hose, and throwing the lance over his shoulder, galloped through\nthe town, exclaiming at every street corner--\n\n\"Hearken ye! old and young. Which of you hath seen this Michael\nD\u00f3ronczius, whom I am seeking with a lantern? Tell me, who hath seen\nhim? What hath become of him?\"\n\nAnd in every crowd there is never any lack of merry roysterers ready to\ngive mocking answers to such scornful questions.\n\n\"I have seen him. He is hiding just now in a mouse-hole, only his spur\nis visible.\"\n\n\"I have seen him. He is dressed up in his wife's clothes; he is selling\nbacon in the market-place among the huckster wenches.\"\n\n\"Never mind, Joe,\" cried another, \"he is sitting behind the stove. He\nwould freeze up if he came out.\"\n\n\"Nay, he would like to come,\" cried the fourth, \"only his mother won't\nlet him. She wants him to skein her thread for her.\"\n\n\"He'll come immediately,\" said a fifth, \"only he's looking for his\nlance; the fowls are sitting on it, and he durst not drive them away for\nfear the cock might peck him.\"\n\n\"Let him alone,\" cried a sixth, \"he's lying sick; a gnat bit him\nyesterday.\"\n\nAnd thus the heckling went from street to street, being the usual mode,\nafter the custom of those times, of shaming a backward combatant into\naction. And, indeed, it was surprising that Michael D\u00f3ronczius did not\ncome forward to fight with the youth who jeered at him so, nor even\nsent to arrest him, inasmuch as he was quite able to do both, being both\na strong muscular man and, at the same time, chief magistrate of the\ncity. But, instead of doing either the one or the other, he said that\nthey were to let young S\u00e1ndor depart in peace wherever he liked to go.\n\nNevertheless, later on, when the first intoxication of rage had\nevaporated from the head of Joseph, he bethought him that, after so much\nheckling on his part, it was not perhaps very advisable for him to\nremain in the near neighbourhood of so powerful an enemy, and\naccordingly one night he privily escaped from the town, and not even his\nfather knew whither he had gone.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMeanwhile time went on, and Catharine grew paler and paler, and no\nmedicine had power to help her. And suddenly the whole miserable mystery\nwas revealed.\n\nOn the night before Ascension Day, just after the blowing of the\ntwo-o'clock horn, a watchman perceived a woman's shape, wrapped in a\nlong cloak, hastening stealthily along the walls in the direction of the\ncity trench. The watchman followed in the traces of this figure, and saw\nhow this servant-wench--for such he judged her to be--on reaching the\ntrenches, placed on the ground something wrapped up in a bundle, and\nthen produced a spade and began to dig.\n\nWhen she had scooped out a good deep hole, she knelt down beside the\nwrapped-up object, and, covering her face with her hands, began to weep\nbitterly. Then she suddenly left off weeping, and looked timidly round\nto see if any one was near.\n\nThen the night watchman went up to her and seized her hand, and bawled\nloudly in her ear, \"What art thou doing there?\"\n\nThe girl immediately fell back and fainted without answering him, but\nthe object lying open there before him plainly told him what was being\ndone. It was a little new-born baby, a pretty little chubby-faced child;\nbut dead and stiff.\n\nThere was no wound upon it, but only a little pin-prick just over the\nregion of the heart, nor was there any blood on its little white shift,\nsave only a single drop, but that had been enough to make the innocent\ncreature die.\n\nAt the cry of the night watchman, many people came running up, and they\nwere horrified to recognize in the murderess and mother of the child,\nCatharine, the former bride of Joseph S\u00e1ndor, who must certainly have\nrun away from her bridegroom's house on the night of the marriage\nbecause she would not practise a vile deception on that worthy man.\n\nThey immediately tied the girl's hands behind her, and fastening the\nbaby to her neck, put her in the lock-up, and there the inquiry began\nearly the next morning.\n\nThe girl denied nothing. She _had_ killed her child and would have\nburied it to conceal her shame. She made no excuses, she did not even\nweep or beg for mercy. The one thing they could not get out of her was:\nwho was the child's father? On this point she remained doggedly silent,\nand was ready to suffer threefold torture rather than speak.\n\nThe Sheriff, Michael D\u00f3ronczius, was the presiding judge who pronounced\nsentence upon the criminal. For her great sin against God, he said, she\nwas to endure the punishment prescribed for such offences in the\nstatute-book of the town, without any mitigation.\n\nWithin living memory no such crime had been committed in our town, so\nthat not even the people themselves knew what form the execution would\ntake, therefore an enormous multitude assembled on the appointed day at\nthe place of execution to see what manner of death she who had murdered\nher child was to die.\n\nI also was there, and I shall never forget the spectacle, but I would\nnot go to such a sight again if they were to promise me the best part of\nthe town of Caschau for it.\n\nBeneath the scaffold a long trench had been dug about four feet in\ndepth, and beside it stood the executioner's two apprentices.\n\nIn this trench Catharine was laid backwards, so that her head alone\nemerged above it; it was just as if she were lying comfortably in bed.\n\nThen they bound her hands and feet tightly to stout pegs at the bottom\nof the trench, and the executioner placed the point of a large stake\njust above Catharine's heart, and held it there while the executioner's\nassistants filled the whole trench with earth, so that at last only the\ngirl's head was visible above it.\n\nAnd when nothing more was to be seen but her head, with its pale face,\nthe chaplain approached her, and, kneeling down beside her, urged her\nfor the sake of the salvation of her soul and for the remission of her\nsins to confess herself truly to him and tell him everything which might\nrelieve her heart of its heavy burden--for had she not two feet in the\ngrave already.\n\nThe head visible above the earth looked sorrowfully around it in every\ndirection twice or thrice, as if it were waiting for some one, as if it\nbelieved that at that consummate moment some one would appear to save\nit, and when, after all, it saw no deliverer approaching, two heavy\ntears dropped from its eyes and, trickling down its pale face, fell upon\nthe earth which now reached to its very chin. Then she, who was thus\nburied before she was dead, whispered that she would confess everything,\nand not in secret, but so that the whole world should hear it.\n\nAnd she began by saying that the father of the child whose young life\nshe had so mercilessly extinguished was none other than Michael\nD\u00f3ronczius, the Sheriff.\n\nIt was he who had deceived the heart of the innocent girl by his\ndevilish artifices, so that when she heard and saw him she forgot\neverything else. 'Twas he who, protected by the Prince of Darkness, came\nto Catharine's house at night, who corrupted her with devilish potions,\nand utterly turned her head. Once, too, he had been caught there by the\nwatchmen, Wurmdrucker and Kebluska, whom D\u00f3ronczius, in order that they\nmight not say anything against him, had thrown into the Pontius Pilate\ndungeon, where they were still languishing. For this cause Catharine had\nescaped by night from her bridegroom, Joseph S\u00e1ndor, and after that had\noftentimes implored Michael D\u00f3ronczius not to drive her to despair, but\nas he had made her unhappy, at least to take her to wife, especially as\nup to that time she had always loved him greatly. But D\u00f3ronczius always\nmade excuses; and when it was no longer possible to conceal her shame,\nhe had counselled Catharine, with devilish insinuations, to kill and\nbury her child as soon as it was born. And when they had caught the girl\nin the deed her destroyer had assured her that, if only she would not\nbetray him, he would save her at the very last moment. And now the very\nlast moment had come, but D\u00f3ronczius was hugging himself at home with\nthe thought that the only witness of his evil deed was about to be put\nto silence for ever. So now, therefore, his offence was revealed, and\nlet God judge him and let God judge her also, poor sinful girl that she\nwas.\n\nEvery one heard these words with horror, and there was not one who did\nnot weep for the poor downtrodden girl and curse the man who had ruined\nher.\n\nAnd then the clergyman gave her spiritual consolation, and, having\ncommended her poor oppressed soul to the infinite mercy of God, he\ncovered her head with a handkerchief so that she might not see the\nthings which were to happen next.\n\nFor the headsman now drew forth the stake, which indicated the exact\nplace of the buried girl's heart through the intervening earth, and\ntaking a long, red-hot iron peg from a brazier of burning coals, let it\ndown through the place where the wooden stake had been. Then one of the\nexecutioner's assistants seized a sledge-hammer with both hands and\ndrove the red-hot iron peg home, while the other quickly covered the\ngirl's head with a heap of earth. But even through the earth could be\nheard a heart-rending scream, and the whole earthy tomb heaved up twice\nor thrice in a manner horrible to behold, till the other apprentices of\nthe executioner had cast a great mound of earth over it and stamped it\nwell down with their feet, after which the grave remained quiet, not a\nsound now came from it, and the earth ceased to move.\n\nThereupon the crowd, loudly cursing, set off for the house of Michael\nD\u00f3ronczius, whom they would no doubt have torn to pieces on the spot had\nnot the F\u00fcrmenders taken him under their protection.\n\nMeanwhile it became the duty of the Syndics to bring an action against\nhim for fraud, sorcery, and murder. At first D\u00f3ronczius obstinately\ndenied everything, but when Wurmdrucker and Kebluska, who were released\nfrom their dungeon, testified against him, and said they had seized him\non the night when he had quitted Catharine's house, he began to perceive\nthat things were going badly with him, and, by way of saving his own\nskin, devised an evil plan and sent a secret message to the Walloon\ncaptain encamped at Eperies, that if he would come to Caschau by night\nhard by the gate of the Green Springs, he might perchance find it open\nand so obtain possession of the whole town.\n\nBut the Almighty put to nought this vile device, inasmuch as Joseph\nS\u00e1ndor, who had quitted the town because of the Sheriff, and entered the\narmy of Prince John Sigismund, and there worked his way up to the rank\nof captain, having heard through spies of the intentions of the Walloon\ncaptain, galloped at breakneck pace all the way from Tokai to Caschau\nwith five hundred heydukes, and arrived just as the Walloons were\npressing through the gate into the town.\n\nA fierce and desperate fight thereupon ensued between the Walloons and\nthe Hungarians. The former had brought a cannon with them, and\nentrenching themselves close to the Green Springs behind waggons, fired\nmercilessly at the town, and into the ranks of the Hungarian warriors,\none ball even penetrating the principal entrance of the cathedral.\nNevertheless, Joseph S\u00e1ndor, still further encouraging his warriors,\nbroke at last the ranks of the enemy, and, capturing their cannon\nbesides, flung them out of the town with great profusion of blood.\nIndeed, if it had not been so dark, and the terrified inhabitants had\nhad time, after the treachery of the Sheriff, to set things in order and\nsuccour Joseph, certainly not one of the Walloons would have escaped.\n\nAs for Michael D\u00f3ronczius, he was seized while attempting stealthily to\nfly, and the whole treason was brought home to him.\n\nAnd it was exactly a year that day since they had elected him as Sheriff\nand installed him in office in the churchyard. Wherefore the carpenters,\nwith the waggon drawn by six horses and laden with a heap of fine\nhornbeams, again drew up in front of the churchyard, and there they made\na pile of the wood and burnt Michael D\u00f3ronczius upon it, as they told\nhim they would beforehand.\n\nBut, by way of a memorial of the sad treachery, they walled up the gate\nof the Green Springs, and drew a couple of trenches in front of it, with\ndeep moats guarding them, so that none might get in that way again.\n\nAfter this event Joseph S\u00e1ndor settled again in the city of Caschau,\nand lived there for a long time till he became an old man, but he never\nmarried.\n\nThis also they said, at a later day, that one night Catharine's body was\ndug up from its grave beneath the gibbet and buried in a more godly\nplace, which none wots of save he who buried it there.\n\nWhether it were true or not, nobody could say for certain, for that\nwhich is under the earth is the secret of the dark earth known only to\nthe Almighty, and may His gracious protection rest over our poor town\nand over our hundred-fold more unfortunate country!\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nTHE JUSTICE OF SOLIMAN--A TURKISH STORY\n\n\nIn the days of Sultan Soliman the Magnificent there lived at Stambul a\nrich merchant whose name was Muhzin, who traded in jewels and precious\nstones. This man had a dear consort--Eminha--whom he loved better than\nall his precious stones, whose red lips he prized beyond the brightness\nof his rubies, the sparkle of whose eyes excelled the brilliance of his\ndiamonds, and the speech of whose lips was like a silver bell. He would\nnot have bartered those eyes and those lips for all the treasures of the\nworld.\n\nBut, alas! those sparkling eyes, those sweet lips were but corruptible\ntreasures. The breath of a breeze from the Morea, which brought the\npestilence along with it, robbed Muhzin of his treasure, and cast a\ncloud over those star-bright eyes, a dumbness upon those speaking lips.\nWhat Muhzin would not have given away for all this world's goods he gave\nto Death for nothing, and they buried his treasure in the ungrateful\nEarth, which gives back nothing, not even thanks for what you give her.\n\nWorthy Muhzin wept sore because of this loss; he would neither eat nor\ndrink, and sleep forsook him. Night after night he went on to the roof\nof his house, and wept and wept till dawn.\n\nVainly did his friends and kinsfolk try to console him. They could do\nnothing with him. He could not reconcile himself to the thought that\nthose lovely eyes would never smile upon him again, that that dear mouth\nwould never speak to him more.\n\nOne night, when Muhzin was lying back gloomily on his sleepless couch,\nsuddenly, through the open door, a wondrous vision stood before him--a\ngrey-haired old man, whose beard and turban shone like bright white\nflames.\n\nAnd the vision spoke to him thus, in a gentle, consolatory voice--\n\n\"Muhzin, I have compassion on thy bitter affliction and upon thy grief.\nI see that thou art worthy of superhuman succour, because thou dost love\nafter a superhuman sort. Thy wife hath not died, for she was not a\nmortal maid, but a peri. Eminha still lives, for she possesses the power\nof the peris to die whensoever she desires so to do, and awake in\nanother realm, there to begin a new life, till she choose to die again,\nand so pursue her metamorphoses. Therefore gird up thy loins and set out\nforthwith on a pilgrimage to Mecca, and there sit down at the gate of\nthe burial-place, hard by the well of Zemzem, and wait there. Wait there\ntill a funeral procession comes thither, carrying a blue-painted coffin\ncovered by a pall of yellow silk, which pall will be embroidered with\nblue letters and silver arabesques. Then thou shalt rush out, stop the\nfuneral procession, uncover the face of the dead, and thou shalt find\nEminha. The mourners will not believe that it is thy wife; but thou must\nthen take from thy girdle this little box, which contains a salve, and\ntouch the eyebrows and the lips of thy dead wife with thy anointed\nfinger-tips, and then her eyes will open and her lips will mutter,\n'Muhzin!' and no one will doubt any longer that it is indeed thy wife,\nand thou wilt bring her back to Stambul, and she will no longer desire\nto leave thee. But in order that thy treasures may not be stolen during\nthe time of thy pilgrimage, take them not with thee, lest evildoers rob\nthee of them by the way, but commit them to the keeping of thy faithful\nfriend, the honourable Ali Hojia, who is learned in the law, and an\ninterpreter of the Koran, so that thou mayest find them all safe when\nthou returnest.\"\n\nAnd with these words the grey-bearded old man vanished from before the\neyes of Muhzin.\n\nThe merchant awoke full of amazement. He rubbed his eyes with both hands\nto see whether he was not still dreaming, lit a rushlight, and his\namazement increased when he found on his table the little box which the\nold man from the other world had brought him; it was beautifully wrought\nof ivory, richly set with turquoises and perforated with gold. Such a\nmasterpiece came from no human hand.\n\nThe next day he told the matter to Ali Hojia, to whom the enigmatical\nold man had referred him. The lawyer shook his head over it, as if he\ndid not like the business at all, made objections, and tried to persuade\nMuhzin that he had dreamed it all, or imagined it with his eyes wide\nopen, and finally appealed to his doubts by reminding him that the body\nof Eminha was now lying in the tomb where Muhzin had buried it--let him\nbreak open the tomb and see for himself, quoth Ali.\n\nMuhzin hastened to perform the request of his friend, and behold--the\ndead body of Eminha was _not_ in the desecrated tomb.\n\nAnd now no power in the world was capable of keeping Muhzin back from\nfollowing the voice of the heavenly vision. He put in his pouch whatever\nof ready money he had by him, and confided his whole store of gems to\nAli Hojia, who was his nearest friend, and a worthy, honourable man to\nboot, till he himself should return from Mecca. And Ali took the charge\nupon him for friendship's sake.\n\nMuhzin, after many vicissitudes, reached Mecca. On the road robbers\nattacked him, and robbed him of all his money, but, fortunately, the\nlittle box with the magic unguent escaped; it was concealed within his\nturban, and therefore they did not discover it. A beggar he entered the\nholy city, and lived from hand to mouth on the alms of compassionate\npilgrims.\n\nEvery day he could be seen at the gate of the cemetery near the well of\nZemzem, watching the funeral processions which passed before him day\nafter day, for Mecca is a populous place.\n\nA year had passed, and he was still waiting in vain--a coffin such as\nthat described by the nocturnal apparition had not yet passed before\nhim. Either the coffin was blue but the pall was not yellow, or the pall\nlacked the necessary blue letters, or if it had the blue letters the\narabesques were not of silver, or if every requisite mark of\nidentification was there, the corpse was not the corpse of a woman, but\nof a man, or a manchild of twelve years.\n\nMuhzin was slowly approaching that state of mind which we call madness,\nwhen one day he heard from the other beggars that there was going to be\na splendid funeral that day--the wife of the Kadilesker, the beautiful\nEminha, had died.\n\nEminha!\n\nThat name put heart into Muhzin once more. All day long he did not\ndepart from the gate of the cemetery, and the beating of his heart\nalmost stifled him when he heard approaching him the funeral music which\nalways heads the funeral procession.\n\nMuhzin had no thought for the splendour of the funeral, no thought for\nthe dancing dervishes, nor for the wailing women-mourners, nor for the\n_siligdars_ who scattered small silver coins among the mob of\nmendicants. All he could do was to gaze upon the bier.\n\nEven from a distance he could see that the coffin was blue and the pall\na bright yellow. When they came nearer he could even distinguish the\nblue letters on the pall, and when they came level with him he could see\nthe silver embroidery of arabesques quite well.\n\nMuhzin, wild with joy, violently pushed aside those standing in front of\nhim, forced his way through the procession right up to the coffin, and\ncried--\n\n\"Stop! Stop! This is Eminha. This is my wife!\"\n\nThe attendants, the great men, the Kadilesker himself--the dead woman's\nhusband--looked with amazement upon this raving figure who had dared to\ndisturb the order of the funeral; but Muhzin regarded them not, but\nstripped the pall from off the face of the dead woman.\n\nThe young woman who lay there really resembled his Eminha. Death is a\ngreat artist. With one cold breath she knows how to make all human faces\nsingularly alike.\n\n\"She is not dead!\" cried Muhzin to the dumfoundered crowd. \"I can make\nher arise, and then you will see that she will call me her husband. I\nhave been waiting for her here a whole year. Hence, all of you! for I\nwould kill and slay and scatter curses around me! Ye shall not bury the\nliving!\"\n\nThe people were alarmed at the sight of mad Muhzin, and still more by\nhis savage words. Moreover, the mourning Kadilesker dearly loved his\ndead wife, and when Muhzin said that he would raise her up again, he\nalso was glad, and made place for him by the coffin that he might\nperform this miracle.\n\nWith the fervour of devotion, Muhzin drew from his girdle the little box\nand opened it; a yellow-coloured ointment was inside it, speckled with\nlittle green-gold points, of whose magical efficacy Muhzin himself was\nquickly convinced when he dipped into it the index finger of his right\nhand, for it burnt him as severely as if he had plunged it into boiling\noil. But this extraordinary quality of the ointment was only a greater\ntestimony to its marvellous origin, so that Muhzin did not hesitate to\nthoroughly rub the eyebrows and the lips of the corpse with his anointed\nfinger-tip.\n\nEverybody was intently watching to see whether the breath of life would\nreturn beneath the influence of the wondrous unguent, but nobody was so\ndevout a believer in it as Muhzin himself.\n\nBut lo! instead of the eyes and lips of the dead woman opening, as was\nexpected of them, the places which Muhzin had anointed turned black, the\nskin began to crackle and blister, and the face of the dead woman became\nquite hideous.\n\nHorror seized upon Muhzin. This was not the effect he had anticipated.\nThe people around him murmured aloud, the Kadilesker rushed furiously\nupon him, and, seizing him by the throat, cast him to the ground.\n\n\"Accursed magician!\" he cried, \"so shamelessly to distort the face of my\ndead wife, and make her, now that she is dead, just such an one as thou\nthyself art while still alive!\"\n\n\"To the stake with him!\" thundered the mob all around; they were furious\nwith Muhzin. \"To the fiery pit with him--reserved for the\nidol-worshippers and sorcerers--the wretch who would desecrate the\nbodies of the dead!\"\n\nAnd worthy Muhzin would have been burnt on the spot had not the Governor\nof Damascus happened to be there, who, perceiving that they had to do\nwith a lunatic rather than an idolater, ordered his chiauses to seize\nMuhzin, tie him to a pillar, give him two hundred strokes with a\ncamel-driver's whip, and then bring the man before him, that he might\nconfess what mad idea it was that had induced him to deform the features\nof the dead wife of the Kadilesker.\n\nMuhzin told the Governor about the marvellous apparition which had sent\nhim thither.\n\n\"My poor Muhzin,\" said the Governor, when he understood the whole\naffair, \"what a confounded fool thou art to allow thyself to be imposed\nupon by such a lot of rubbish! Some one has been making a butt of thee.\nWhy, that Eminha who was the wife of the Kadilesker was born and lived\nhere from her childhood until now; how, then, could she be thy wife a\nyear ago? Moreover, that unguent of thine is a fraud. It is no magic\nthing, but a corrosive poison with which they are wont to blister the\nbodies of the poor in the times of pestilence. Every dervish knows of\nit. Come to thy senses, man! Make an end of thy pilgrimage, return home\nto Stambul, and follow thy trade. I hope that no greater trouble\nawaiteth thee when thou gettest home.\"\n\nMuhzin kissed the hand of the humane Pasha, who gave him some dinars to\nhelp him on his way, and turned back towards Stambul forthwith, with\nragged garments, a scarred body, a broken heart, and a half-crazy mind.\n\nPoor, and tormented by grief, he reached Stambul after many weeks,\npicked up by one caravan in the place where a former one had dropped\nhim, bringing home with him a wound on the temples from the lance of a\nBedouin freebooter, the impression in his thigh of four teeth of a\npanther, from which he had contrived to escape half alive, and a\nterrible emptiness in his heart, in which all hope and faith had died.\n\nWhen he got back to Stambul he thought within himself that, after having\nescaped from so many dangers, God would, at least, visit him with no\nmore affliction, but, content with what had already befallen him, would\nsuffer him to attend to his business in peace for the small remainder of\nhis days.\n\nWherefore he at once sought out worthy Ali Hojia, his one faithful\nfriend, to whom he had confided the keeping of his treasures.\n\nAli received him kindly. \"Well, and so thou hast just come, Muhzin,\"\nsaid he; \"of a truth, I had given thee up for lost. Every evening have I\nprayed that thou mightest return.\"\n\nAnd then Muhzin told him how ill he had fared, and what a fool the\nvision had made of him, and said that henceforth, he would believe no\nmore in visions, even if their beards were made of moonbeams.\n\n\"And that will be wise of thee, Muhzin,\" said Ali Hojia. \"Did I not tell\nthee not to go? If thou hadst remained at home here thou wouldst not\nhave been robbed and made a fool of. And now thou hast made of thyself a\nlaughing-stock and a beggar. Yet grieve not. For a week a table shall be\nspread in my house for thee, and then other merciful Mussulmans will\ncare for thee to the end of thy days.\"\n\n\"I thank thee for thy goodness, Ali,\" said Muhzin; \"but I will not be a\nbeggar. Produce my hidden treasures, and I will trade with them as\nbefore. I will live honourably.\"\n\n\"Then, where are these treasures of thine?\" asked Ali, exceedingly\namazed.\n\n\"Why, with thee, of course,\" replied Muhzin.\n\nAli Hojia shook his head. \"Muhzin, my friend, thy misfortunes have\nrobbed thee of thy wits, so that thou knowest not what thou sayest. Thou\nhast just told me that thou wert robbed on thy journey, and now thou\nsayest I have treasures of thine which I have never seen. I tell thee\nwhat--go now and have a little sleep and clear thy mind somewhat. After\nthat I will gladly see thee again.\"\n\nAnd with that worthy Hojia very gently pushed Muhzin from his door, and\nshut it in his face.\n\nThe unfortunate merchant now fell into absolute despair. He himself\nbegan to doubt whether he was in his senses, or whether he had indeed\nturned crazy, and the hidden treasure was a dream, a phantom, like the\nrest.\n\nIn his despair he flew to the Grand Vizier, cast himself at his feet,\nand told him the whole story.\n\n\"Hast thou a witness who saw thee give thy treasures to Hojia?\" inquired\nthe Grand Vizier.\n\n\"Allah alone, none other. Truly we were such good friends, one body and\none soul.\"\n\n\"Then keep still till I have spoken to the Sultan.\"\n\nWhen the Grand Vizier had spoken to the Sultan about the matter, Soliman\ncommanded him to proclaim at every corner of every street, through the\npublic criers, that a certain merchant, Muhzin by name, recently\nreturned from a pilgrimage to Mecca, had drowned himself at night in the\nBosphorus. His dead body had been found by the fishermen; if, therefore,\nthe dead man had any friends or relations who wished to bury him with\ndue respect, they were to come for him, otherwise the corpse would be\nburied in the common cemetery reserved for the poor.\n\nNaturally Ali Hojia was the last person to come forward to bury Muhzin;\non the contrary, he did not show himself at all, but several days\nafterwards he secretly visited the cemetery of the poor, and there\ndiscovered the flat tomb on which two rough stones had been rolled, and\non one of these stones the name of Muhzin had been coarsely smeared.\n\nBut Muhzin was cast by the Sultan into the prison of the Seven Towers,\nso that he might not be able to show himself, even if he had a mind to.\nThere, however, he was well treated and lacked nothing.\n\nSoliman, moreover, got from the merchant an exact description of his\ndeposited treasures, piece by piece, with all their distinguishing\nmarks, and made an inventory of them. Then he commanded the Grand Vizier\nto make friends with Hojia under some pretext or other.\n\nThe Grand Vizier went very cautiously to work, and having frequently had\noccasion to observe the wisdom of the learned lawyer, promised to\npresent him to the Sultan.\n\nThe Sultan condescended to enter into conversation with the lawyer, and\nexpressed himself delighted at his dialectical skill. Presently he got\ninto the habit of asking his opinion concerning various ticklish points\nof law in cases about which even the members of the Divan had different\nopinions, and always he gave great weight to the words of Ali. At last\nhe so far extended his favour towards him as to appoint him Chief\nAlmoner, and raise him high among the dignitaries of the Seraglio.\n\nSo much favour absolutely blinded Hojia, it was now six months since the\ndeath of Muhzin had been proclaimed, and no doubt he thought no more\nabout it.\n\nOne day the Sultan perceived in the girdle of Hojia a rosary just like\none which was mentioned in the inventory of the merchant's stolen\ntreasures. It was made of coral beads of the size of filberts, engraved\nall round with sacred texts, and the larger beads were encrusted with\ndiamonds.\n\nThe Sultan admired the string of beads. \"What a splendid bead-string\nthou hast,\" said he. \"In the whole of my treasury I have not the like of\nit. The coral is extraordinarily beautiful, and the workmanship\npriceless.\"\n\nAli was transported with joy, and made haste to offer to the Sultan the\njewel which was so fortunate as to have won the favour of the Grand\nSignior.\n\nThe Sultan graciously condescended to accept the present, and gave Hojia\ninstead of it three purses of gold, far more indeed than the jewel was\nworth, and invited him the next day to the Dzsirid Square, where a\nsplendid entertainment was to be held.\n\nHojia was even more delighted by this distinction than by the Sultan's\ngift; he would be able to appear on the Dzsirid in the suite of the\nSultan.\n\nThe Dzsirid was the one open space in the Seraglio where the Turkish\nmagnates diverted themselves with pike-casting, dart-throwing, and other\nmanly sports. The Sultan himself often took part in these pastimes. The\nbest of shooting grounds also formed part of the Dzsirid.\n\nOn this occasion the Sultan also took part in the shooting; and very\nbadly he shot, not once did he hit the mark. Wherefore he began to grow\nangry, and, as is the way with marksmen under such circumstances, he\nblamed the mark, the bowstring, the quiver, and the burning sun for his\nbad shooting, and at last burst forth against the ring on his finger as\nthe cause of all his wide shooting. For it was the custom of the archer\nto wear on his finger a serpent-shaped spiral ring, so as to gain a\nfirmer hold of the bow-string, and be able to make the bow twang to its\nfull extent at the proper time.\n\nThe Sultan kept on grumbling at his ring, saying that it was badly made\nand caught in the bow-string every time, so that he could not let it go\nquickly enough, and with that he snatched it off, and cried, \"Give me\nanother ring!\"\n\nHis attendants hastened to offer their own rings to the Grand Signior.\nThe Sultan tried them all one after another.\n\n\"That won't do, that won't do! Ah! nobody makes such good archery-rings\nas the goldsmith Sulassan used to make, and he is dead now. But is there\nnone here who has a ring made by Sulassan?\"\n\nAt this question, Ali Hojia eagerly rushed up to the Sultan, and\nsignified that he possessed a ring which was a production of the dead\nmaster. Would the Padishah deign to accept it from him?\n\nSoliman did deign to accept it. This was the choicest jewel which the\nmerchant had described to him. He accepted it from Hojia, put it on his\nfinger, and thenceforth shot so skilfully at the mark that every one\napplauded him, and none more so than Ali Hojia.\n\nAfter the sports in the Dzsirid, the Sultan sent for Muhzin. In his hand\nwas the string of beads, and on his finger was the ring, and he was\npraying with the Koran before him.\n\nAstonishment overcame the merchant when he saw his lost jewels in the\npossession of Soliman. He cast himself at the Sultan's feet, and,\ncatching hold of the hem of his garment, exclaimed: \"Oh, my lord, the\nring and the string of beads which thou holdest in thy hand are mine.\"\n\nThe Sultan asked him what was written on each one of the beads and how\nmany stones were in the ring, and the merchant answered each question\nexactly, whereupon the Sultan sent him back to the Seven Towers.\n\nOn the following day he sent for Hojia.\n\nHe discoursed with him on all manner of juridical questions which had\ncome before the Divan, and took the opinion of the learned lawyer upon\nthem all. Amongst other cases, he suddenly put this one to him: a\ncertain man had grossly abused the confidence of a friend, who had\nconfided his property to his care while he was on his travels, and\nrobbed him of everything; what did such a man deserve for such a\nmonstrous act of treachery?\n\nNow, it is notorious that the greatest sinners are the most rigorous\njudges of offences similar to their own in others, and it is even\npossible that it never occurred to Hojia that he himself had been guilty\nof a like offence. Besides, his sin was buried deeply away in the tomb\nof Muhzin, and nobody knew anything about it.\n\nSo the jurist replied to the Sultan that such an extraordinary offence\ndemanded an extraordinary punishment, and the sinner deserved nothing\nless than pounding to death in a mortar.\n\n\"Thou hast pronounced thine own condemnation,\" cried the Sultan. Then\nhe clapped his hands, and four Izoglans came running in and bound Hojia\nhand and foot, took from him his keys, searched his dwelling thoroughly,\nand found in it the whole of the treasure which had been confided to him\nby his friend the merchant.\n\nThe confounded Hojia, who fancied he was bathing in the sunlight of the\nhighest favour, and never reflected that in the sunlight everything\nbecomes transparent, in his terror confessed everything, and also said\nthat he was the apparition who, after fastening on a beard smeared over\nwith a phosphorescent unguent, had come to the room of the sorrowing\nMuhzin and practised on the unfortunate mourner the accursed trick which\nhad well-nigh robbed him of life and reason. It was he, too, who had\nstolen the body of Eminha from its tomb.\n\nThe Sultan immediately summoned a meeting of the Divan, laid the case\nbefore the Viziers, and told them of the punishment which the Hojia\nhimself had said that a crime like his deserved.\n\nThe Viziers answered that Hojia's opinion was just. The crime was indeed\nof a new sort, and it was right, therefore, that he should be the first\nto taste the proper punishment for it.\n\nBy the Sultan's command, therefore, a huge mortar was cut out of marble,\na huge pounding pole with four handles thereto being at the same time\nmade to match the mortar.\n\nAli Hojia, meanwhile, was attired in a purple robe, with a golden turban\non his head, and a bespangled girdle round his body, and so they cast\nhim into the mortar. Then four Bostanjis seized the pounding beetle,\nand raising it by its four handles, rammed it with all their might into\nthe mortar at a sign from the Aga of the Bostanjis. A frightful yell\narose from the mortar, tapering off into an unspeakable, indescribable\nwhistling shriek. The Bostanjis raised the pounding beetle a second\ntime, and a second time they rammed it home. But now only a muffled\ngroan responded to the impact. The third stroke was followed by a\nghastly whimper, and after the fourth stroke there was no response but\nthe crunching of bones.\n\nAnd so they went pounding away with their pestle till they were tired\nout, and by that time all that remained in the mortar was a shapeless\nmash of blood and bones and silk and gold filigree.\n\nThus did Sultan Soliman punish the deceiver.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEighty years ago the French traveller Tavernier saw this very mortar, so\nterrible a memorial of Ottoman justice, standing in the door of the Hall\nof the Divan.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nLOVE AND THE LITTLE DOG\n\n\nWhat can there be in common between love and a little dog? Well, listen!\nand I'll tell you.\n\nMy dear friend Toni was head over ears in love with a pretty little girl\nwhom I did not love at all. This was not because I prefer falling in\nlove with ugly little girls, or because I consider it superfluous to\nlove a girl who is already loved by another fellow, but simply because\none eye of this particular girl was black and the other blue.\n\n\"Toni,\" I said, \"look out for yourself! This double sort of eye bodes no\ngood. With one of them she'll ogle you, and with the other some one\nelse. The blue eye may be faithful to you, the black one may deceive.\"\n\nToni replied I was quite wrong. In his opinion these two eyes harmonized\nadmirably; they reminded him, he said, of bright dawn and starry night.\nIndeed, properly speaking, he alone would be the faithless one, as he\nwould now be loving a blue eye and a black one at the same time.\n\nStill, I did not like the business at all, and as I felt sure that Toni\nwould be considerably the loser by it, I was determined to save him if I\ncould.\n\n\"It will be the worse for you if you take her,\" I said. \"For one thing,\nyou will not be able even to call her your better _half_. With those\ncontradictory eyes she will, at the very utmost, only be your better\n_two quarters_. Depend upon it, she must have been formed from the ribs\nof two different men. Have nothing to do with her, Toni, my boy!\"\n\nWhereupon Toni became abusive, and told me never to regard him as a\nfriend again.\n\n\"Who are you to talk to me like that?\" he cried. \"You are not my father,\nor my mother, or my elder brother, or my married sister, or even my\ngodfather, are you? Who are you to ride roughshod over my happiness? I\ndon't care a rap what you say, and stand out of my way, or I'll punch\nyour head. I mean to have her in any case now.\"\n\nSo, as I certainly could not say that I was his father, or even his\ngodfather, I had to stand aside and let him go galloping headlong\ndownhill towards the Vale of Matrimony without the brake on. If he were\nparticularly fortunate, he might, perhaps, plump into a ditch when\nhalfway down, and so come off cheaply with a broken arm; if, however, he\nwere doomed to be unlucky, he would plunge to the bottom of the valley\nand break his neck.\n\nNevertheless, he was lucky, and fell off his high horse when he was only\nhalfway down.\n\nOne evening he came to me full of a great resolution.\n\n\"Well, old chap, I'm not going to marry Nelly after all.\"\n\n\"She has jilted you, I suppose?\"\n\n\"No. Something happened when I was with her last, that's all.\"\n\n\"Indeed! What was it?\"\n\n\"Well, we had been strolling in the garden for an hour or more, mooning\nand spooning, and I had also been reciting verses to her, and she had\nlaughed at them, and it seemed to me that only the angels could laugh\nlike that, when suddenly there came bouncing towards us a little pet\npuppy, a tiny beast about five weeks old, just able to patter along the\nground with his little paws, who wagged his little tail and fawned upon\nNelly in the most comical manner when he got up to her, at the same time\nsticking up one little ear high in the air, and holding the other little\near down. Why he should do so I didn't know; perhaps he had been taught\nit, I thought. Nelly thereupon stooped down towards the little dog, and,\nseizing the point of its little erected ear with two of her pretty\nsnow-white fingers, raised it into the air. The little puppy wriggled\nand whined, but Nelly, smiling all the time, threatened it with the\nindex finger of the other hand. 'Come! stop it, stop it! no whining!\nIt's not pretty,' she said, till the poor little creature gradually grew\nquiet, and remained suspended in the air by its ear. Then Nelly put it\non the ground again, and the little puppy, softly whimpering, tripped\noff again, while Nelly never ceased smiling at it. Well, after that I\nscarce waited to get into my overcoat and wish her good-bye. I think\nthat's all the leave-taking she deserves, and don't suppose I shall ever\nmeet her again. No, my friend, _my_ ears could never stand such\nmanoeuvres.\"\n\nThus it was that the little puppy-dog saved my friend Toni from a\nlife-long danger.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nTHE RED STAROSTA\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE JUDAS-MONEY\n\n\nHave you ever heard of the Bialystok Dominion? There lie the huge Sylvan\nwildernesses of Lithuania, the native home of the Ure-ox, the ancestor\nof horned cattle, the king of all oxen; in every other part of Europe it\nhas been exterminated. They are now the quarry of the Russian Tsar, and\nonly the Romanovs and their guests possess the privilege of hunting them\ndown.\n\nBut Bialystok is still more famous for its wondrously beautiful Palace,\nwhich worthily bears the name of \"the Polish Versailles.\" Built in the\nItalian renaissance style, embellished within and without by the\nsculptures and the paintings, the bronzes and the mosaics of the most\neminent masters, surrounded by the most lovely ornamental gardens in the\nworld, in which the exotic trees in winter time have whole wooden houses\nbuilt around them, so that pomegranate and citron trees bloom in the\nopen air during the spring, and Bruin comes from the depths of the\nsurrounding forests to pluck the citrons from the trees and roar over\nhis unaccustomed food--the Palace of Bialystok is one of the most\nwonderful places in the world.\n\nAnd this famous Palace is connected with no one family name. At every\nfresh human generation it carries a different family name on its\nforehead. It has belonged successively to the Moskowskis, the Potoccy,\nthe Branickis, and the Czernuskis. And popular tradition says that\nbefore it belonged to them it was the possession of the \"Red Starosta.\"\n\nBut whether purchased or won by confiscation it never descended from\nfather to son, for there was this odd thing about it, that its\nproprietor never had male issue, and consequently it always passed\nthrough his daughter to his son-in-law. To explain this condition of\nthings, popular tradition tells the following story:--\n\nIn the days of the Red Starosta, the Jews had great influence in the\nGrodno district; indeed, it would be difficult to imagine Poland without\nthem. Bialystok was their head-quarters, and there they had their\nsynagogue. The Starostas allowed them to multiply and get rich, just as\na highly practical agriculturist allows the bees to collect their stores\nthroughout the summer, and when the autumn winds begin to blow does not\ntreat them after the manner of ungrateful and unreasonable bee-keepers,\nwho smoke out the industrious insects with sulphur, no, but in the most\napproved modern fashion he subtracts the honey, leaves the bees just\nenough to live upon, and then puts back the empty cells into the hive\nthat the bees may fill them full again.\n\nThe bees themselves regard this method as perfectly normal, for\notherwise they would leave the hive and go into the forest and fill the\nstumps of trees with honey. But then the bears would eat them and it, so\nthat, after all, it is very much better for the bees to have to do with\nthe bee-keepers.\n\nOn one occasion the Red Starosta (he was just about to marry for the\nthird time, and wanted a lot of money rather badly for the wedding\nfeast) hit upon a new method of obtaining a voluntary contribution by\nattacking the Jews in their synagogue on one of their holy days. Every\none of them was compelled to pay liberally. There were a good many\ntreasures concealed in the synagogue, and these also they had to hand\nover. The Jews lamented and paid up; they had not even courage enough to\ncurse.\n\nBut in the strong-box of the sanctuary there was a secret drawer, and in\nthis secret drawer there was a single piece of silver. Now, when this\nsecret drawer was opened by the Starosta, the Rabbi, Jitzchak Ben\nMenachim, quickly seized the coin and thrust it into his mouth. They\ncould only get it out again by breaking his teeth, while a heyduke\nsqueezed his throat tightly the whole time so that he should not swallow\nit.\n\nWhat merit could there be in suffering so much for the sake of a single\npiece of silver? The whole thing was no bigger than a Mary-dollar, which\nis only worth 5 polturas.[15] On one side of it was a fig-tree with the\ninscription: \"Jerusalem the Holy,\" in Hebrew letters, with a burning\naltar beneath the fig-tree with the words: \"Shekel: Israel.\" On the\nobverse side was a crowned head with the inscription: \"Melach Herodes.\"\n\n     [Footnote 15: Worth about 6d.]\n\nWhen this silver piece had been taken from the Rabbi, the whole\ncongregation began to rend their garments and cast ashes on their heads.\nThen they abased themselves before the Starosta and implored him to give\nthem back their one piece of silver. They promised to give him for it\ntwice as much, eight times as much as he had already extorted from them,\nthereby betraying the secret that this piece of money was of great value\nto them.\n\n\"Why is this silver coin so precious to you?\" inquired the Starosta.\n\nAt this question every Jew present closed his mouth so tightly that not\neven a sigh escaped from it.\n\n\"Very well,\" said the Red Starosta, \"you won't tell me, eh? Then I'll\nfind a way of making your Rabbi tell me.\"\n\nSo the Red Starosta flung the Rabbi into a dungeon, and for a whole week\nhe experimented upon him with the latest and most approved instruments\nof torture. But Rabbi Jitzchak Ben Menachim remained steadfast. Neither\nfire, nor water, nor the Spanish boot could extract from him the secret\nof the piece of silver.\n\nNow the Rabbi had a grown-up son, Jaikef by name. On the eighth day he\ncould endure no longer the spectacle of his father tortured there before\nhis eyes, so he went to the Starosta and said to him--\n\n\"Let my father go free, and I will tell you the secret of the silver\ncoin.\"\n\nAnd thus Jaikef told the story whose preliminaries are well known to us\nall.\n\nThere was once a Jew named Judas Iscariot, who sold to the Priests of\nJerusalem \"The Son of Man,\" the \"King of Nazareth,\" above whose head on\nthe cross was nailed the inscription \"I.N.R.I.\" The price paid to him\nfor this was thirty pieces of silver. But when they crucified \"the\nMaster\" on Golgotha, he repented him of what he had done and brought\nback the thirty pieces of silver to the Priests. They would not accept\nthem. Then he flung down the money in the Temple, and went and hanged\nhimself on a maple-tree. But the Priests resolved with the rejected\nmoney to buy a portion of land from the Potters. The Priests entrusted\nthe business of the purchase to Kramoi-Chita Anselm, and this\nenterprising man beat down the price to nine and twenty pieces of\nsilver, the thirtieth piece he kept for himself. His son Nathan\ninherited it from him. Solomon, the son of Nathan, inherited it in his\nturn, till at last, in the period of the exodus of the Jews from\nPalestine, it fell into the possession of Joisef Zedek, who brought it\naway with him. This one remaining piece of Judas-money puts power and\nriches into the hands of the Jews. This is their living hope, their\ntalismanic treasure--and now Jaikef gave the secret away.\n\n\"Then it is a very good thing that I have got it,\" said the Red\nStarosta, and, as promised, he set free the Rabbi, at the same time\ntelling him that as he now knew the secret of the piece of silver, he\nwould not give it back to the Jews for all the treasures in the world.\n\nThe Rabbi Jitzchak Ben Menachim thereupon, first of all, cursed his own\nson:\n\n\"As thou couldst not close thy mouth, henceforth thou shalt open it in\nvain.\"\n\nAnd the curse was accomplished. From that time forth poor Jaikef was\nexpelled from every Jewish threshold, not a single Jew would thenceforth\ngive him meat and drink, whilst the law of the Talmud forbade him to eat\nfood prepared by Christians. So he starved to death.\n\nBut upon the Red Starosta the Rabbi Jitzchak Ben Menachim pronounced\nthis curse--\n\n\"A manchild shall never be borne in thy family!\"\n\nAnd this curse also took root and abided.\n\nHenceforth the mortars on the terrace in front of the Palace of\nBialystok never thundered forth in honour of the birth of an heir male.\n\nOf girls there were plenty and to spare, but what's the good of a girl\nto an ancient Lithuanian ancestral house? Up to her twelfth year she is\nallowed to trot about like other little kids, and then they clap her\ninto a convent, where she is taught gold and silver embroidery till she\nreaches a marriageable age, when they bring her home again. What else\ncan _she_ talk about except saints and angels!\n\nHow different with the male children. A boy is taught by his papa all\nmanner of sensible things. You can take him off with you to hunt bears\nand wild boars and elks. He'll not learn much about the book of martyrs\nfrom his chums, perhaps, but all the more knowing will he be in the\nfolklore of the chase, in the mythology of the ancient Lithuanian\ndeities. He will know all about Bag\u00e1n, the protector of the brute\ncreation, who makes the cattle fruitful; about the White God, Belim, who\ngives rich increase to the earth; about the goddess Vastrulia, who gives\nluck in love; while in the day of battle and the hour of danger he must\ncall upon Father Dedka! At great banquets, too, Holyada will defend him\nfrom the disgrace of being the first to fall down drunk, while Lado will\nsend him good dreams.\n\nA girl would not understand this--it is part of the lore of the\nancients.\n\nAnd besides that, a girl does not pass the name of her father on to her\nchildren, so that if the grandson hears the name of his grandsire, he\nwill ask--who is that?\n\nSo the curse of the Rabbi Jitzchak Ben Menachim was accomplished in the\nfamilies of the Castellans of Bialystok. At every great funeral, when\nthey carried forth the head of the family, they hung up his ancestral\nshield on the corner of his tomb as a sign that the family history had\nrun out. And thus it went on through half a century, during which time\nthe lords of the Castle never let the Judas-money out of their hands.\nThe rich Jews of Grodno offered them a million for it, but in vain. They\nwould not give up the talisman even for that.\n\nThe last magnate proprietor was Prince Moskowski. When his wife was in\ngood hopes of offspring he made a vow that if she bare him a son he\nwould give the Judas-money as a donation to the Blessed Virgin. And sure\nenough a son _was_ born.\n\nThe Prince, faithful to his vow, bestowed the Judas-money upon the\nMonastery of Supraseli which was dedicated to the Blessed Virgin.\n\nAnd then the Rabbi of Bialystok, the descendant of Jitzchak Ben\nMenachim, on the original curse thus becoming void, imposed a fresh\ncurse on the head of Prince Moskowski: \"Thy son and thy son's son,\"\nsaid he, \"shall become the lowliest serfs in the Russian Empire!\"\n\nAnd to a Lithuanian noble family this was an even more terrible curse\nthan the former one.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nVACCINATIO SPIRITUALIS\n\n\nThe Starosta Prince Moskowski believed in the operation of a curse; it\nwas the only weapon of a homeless people.\n\nHe had no other son but this one, and he himself remained a widower.\n\nIf he had had five or six sons he would have snapped his fingers at the\nwhole thing as an old wife's story, for the curse could not have taken\neffect on the whole lot of them. But as he only had one, Destiny might\nvery easily get the better of him. This one lord would inherit the vast\nBialystok estates, the splendid castle and its treasures, yet what if\nall this would not save him and his descendants from becoming serfs in\nthe end.\n\nThe Starosta guarded this son of his so jealously from his very cradle\nthat he never so much as cast eyes on a peasant. He did not even know\nwhether such a thing even existed. His servants were all chosen from the\nSzlachta, or gentry. A Szlachzic, even in a menial livery, is still a\ngentleman.\n\nBut even then the father could not rid him of his fear.\n\nHe went to take counsel of the Bishop.\n\nThe Bishop told him to bring up his son for the priesthood, then he\ncould not possibly become a serf. But this solution did not please the\nStarosta, although it would have been the very best way to break the\nforce of the curse. It is true that if his only son became a bishop he\ncould have no sons, and then of course no grandson of the Starosta could\nbecome a serf, because he would have no grandsons at all. But he wanted\nthe branches of the Moskowski family tree to go on growing.\n\nSo he consulted yet another dignitary, the High Treasurer of Cracow.\nWhat was he to do, he asked, to stay the operation of the curse and\nprevent his son and his grandsons from becoming the lowliest serfs in\nthe Russian Empire?\n\nThe High Treasurer advised him to open a deposit account in the name of\nhis son to the amount of a million thalers at the Bank of England, where\nno power on earth could get at it. He would thereby provide against\nevery eventuality. To whatever extremities his son and his grandsons\nmight be reduced, they would never be obliged to do the labour of serfs\nso long as they had a million to their credit at the Bank of England.\n\nBut the Starosta did not like that expedient either. He could produce\nthe million easily enough, but he had no confidence in the Bank of\nEngland. Not very long before there had been a conspiracy to rob the\nBank of England, and it had been within a hair's breadth of succeeding.\nMoreover it was a fact within living memory that on the occasion of the\ninvasion of the Stuart Pretender there had been such a run on the Bank\nof England that it had been obliged to pay its customers over the\ncounter in shillings and sixpences. Why, at that rate, if any one\nclean-shaved himself and went to the Bank to draw out the million, and\nthey were obliged to pay him down on the nail in Polish small change, he\nmight be able comfortably to tuck his beard within his girdle by the\ntime he was able to get home.\n\nNow, there happened to be a Protestant clergyman in the domains of the\nStarosta who dwelt in the county town, the Rev. Gottlieb Klausner by\nname. He was the pastor of the Lutheran community. His flock mostly\nconsisted of handicraftsmen and mechanics who had emigrated to Lithuania\nfrom Brandenburg.\n\nThe only thing the Starosta knew about the Lutheran clergyman was that\nhe never bothered him with inconvenient demands. He and his flock alike\nwere quiet, inoffensive persons. They never advertised their profession\nof faith by anything in their outward dress and bearing; they never\nprayed publicly in the streets; they never rang bells, for their\nmeeting-places had no belfries.\n\nNevertheless, one day the pastor visited the Starosta in his splendid\nprincely palace.\n\nThe Starosta received the reverend gentleman cordially.\n\nGottlieb Klausner first of all apologized for the inconvenience he was\ncausing, and then craved permission to acquaint his Excellency with the\ngreat errand which had emboldened him to appear before him.\n\nHe was such a long time coming to the point that the Starosta fancied he\nwas going to beg for a church-tower full of bells at the very least. Yet\nall that he wanted, after all, was permission to send his son abroad to\ncomplete his studies. He had brought the deed of permission with him in\nhis pocket, written in the fairest caligraphy, it only needed the\nhieroglyphics of the magnate at the bottom of it and the impression of\nhis seal.\n\nThis was very quickly done, but to-day the great man was curious and\nwanted to know all about it.\n\n\"What is your son's Christian name, your Reverence?\"\n\n\"Henry.\"\n\n\"How old is he?\"\n\n\"Sixteen.\"\n\n\"Just as old as my lad. Then, how old may your Reverence be.\"\n\n\"Forty-seven, by the favour of God.\"\n\n\"Just my age. Perhaps we were born on the same day.\"\n\n\"I came into the world on the festival of St. John Chrysostom.\"\n\n\"So did I. That's very right. And why, then, do you want to send your\nson abroad? And so far too? It is to the Sorbonne at Paris, isn't it?\"\n\n\"In order that he may perfect himself in the sciences.\"\n\n\"And why need he perfect himself in the sciences?\"\n\n\"In order that he may not become a serf.\"\n\nAt these words the heart of the Starosta began to beat fiercely.\n\n\"Then he cannot be a serf if he becomes a scholar, eh?\"\n\n\"No. At all times and everywhere a scholar is a gentleman.\"\n\n\"Your Reverence has no doubt heard of the curse with which a Rabbi\nthreatened me?\"\n\n\"Every one knows of it.\"\n\n\"And do you suppose that it can be fulfilled?\"\n\n\"Everything is possible in this world.\"\n\n\"But, according to your reasoning, a scholar can never become a serf.\"\n\n\"And I maintain my contention. Great estates may be called in again by\nthose who bestowed them; brilliant escutcheons may be torn to pieces by\nthe hand which embellished them; but the knowledge which dwells in our\nheads and our hearts neither king nor emperor can take away, and if we\nleave knowledge to our sons as an inheritance, no power on earth can\nmake our sons serfs. Pardon me for elevating my words into such a bold\ndiscourse.\"\n\n\"You elevate me at the same time, my brother in the Lord! But come! you\nhave kindled a bright idea in my brain. I will educate _my_ son as a\nscholar likewise. He has both the mind and the will for it. I have kept\nhim from poring over books hitherto, but now let us send him abroad with\nyour son. Let your Henry be his guardian and comrade. I shall know then\nthat he is in good hands. And I'll pay the expenses of the pair of them.\nThey shall live in the same room and eat off the same dish. My son and\nyour son shall be treated exactly alike. Let them fare as youths\nstudying abroad must fare, and let the best scholar be the best\ngentleman. Is it agreed, brother?\"\n\nGottlieb Klausner gratefully stretched out his hand towards the\nStarosta, who hastily drew back his own, fancying that the pastor was\nabout to kiss it. He might have spared himself the trouble. A Lutheran\npastor never kisses the hand of one of his own sex. The Starosta,\nhowever, immediately afterwards embraced the pastor.\n\n\"Good, my brother! We are agreed then. But I do this under one\ncondition. I ask a service of your Henry. I'll take care that there\nshall be a regular postal service hither from France and Germany twice a\nweek, and your Henry must write to you every post about himself and my\nson, and let us know how they are and what progress they are making.\"\n\n\"My son will certainly not neglect to do so.\"\n\n\"Bring your son hither that I may make his acquaintance.\"\n\n\"This very day I will bring him.\"\n\n\"And now, hearken, my brother. You and I are both old fellows, and\nhitherto each of us has celebrated his birthday alone with his son.\nHenceforth we shall be quite alone. Let us henceforth keep our birthday\nin each other's company.\"\n\nBut the two old men did not only keep their common birthday together,\nbut when their two sons had departed on the common path of learning, the\nhomely pastor went up to the Castle twice a week with the letter he had\nreceived from his son, that he might read it aloud to the Starosta. And\nthe Starosta always compelled him to remain to dinner. And though he\nmight have a brilliant host of guests staying with him, the Rev.\nGottlieb Klausner, in his simple black cassock, always sat at the\nStarosta's right hand. The only change took place when a priest of the\nStarosta's own religion happened to be his guest. Then Klausner sat at\nthe left hand of the Starosta, but there also he was treated with great\ndistinction. And just before the bumpers began to go round, the latest\nletter received from Henry was always read to the general delectation.\n\nAnd Henry's letters certainly were amusing. There was no frothy\neffusiveness, no cheap claptrap in them as is generally the way with\nstudents' productions, and for that very reason they were all the more\ngenuinely interesting. They were full, indeed, of the comical\nadventures, without which a student's life is inconceivable, and no\nmystery was made of the scrapes and exploits which fell to his lot, but\nat the same time the distinctions which the two youths gained at the\nSorbonne were duly enumerated.\n\nIt occurred to none of the guests to ask the reverend gentleman why he\nhad sent his son to the Sorbonne instead of to Heidelberg, where\nLutherans generally go to college.\n\nBut once when these scholastic testimonials were passing from hand to\nhand among the army of guests, an inquisitive guest remarked that in\nyoung Moskowski's testimonial he was described as \"eminent\" in such\nsciences as \"mathematics,\" \"geometry,\" \"chemistry,\" and \"mineralogy.\"\nWhat need, he added, had a Moskowski to grub about amongst such things\nas these. He was not going to be a miner, was he? Whereupon the reverend\npastor, with philosophical composure and prophetic inspiration,\nreplied: \"A man never knows what sciences may be useful to him one day.\"\n\nThis was the _vaccinatio spiritualis_, the inoculation of the\nmind--against the infection of the serf distemper.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nFACE TO FACE\n\n\nThe two youths spent two years in the foreign University. They studied\ntogether and they caroused together. They fought for each other, and\nthey wrote each other's dissertations. When they spent all their money\nthey wrote verses, and whichever of them was able to borrow a livre or\ntwo, always shared it with the other. And whenever the Philistines were\ntoo much for them they bolted into the next town.\n\nHeinrich's last letter to his father was written from Utrecht. There\nboth of them gained their _promotio_. Casimir became a baccalaureat of\nphilosophy, Heinrich a doctor of medicine.\n\nThe Rev. Mr. Klausner told the Starosta that his little Heinrich had\nappropriated the new science, according to which doctors were no longer\nto plague their unfortunate patients with bitter draughts at the rate of\na pint a dose; but went about with little white pillules, the size of\nmillet seeds, in their pockets, and wrought marvellous cures on the\nprinciple of _similia similibus_.\n\n\"Very well,\" said the Starosta, \"as your son Heinrich has become a\ndoctor, I will make him my family physician, with a salary of 2000\nthalers, on condition that he bleeds me in the first quarter of every\nmonth, and gives me some of his drugs. For I invented homoeopathy before\nHerr Hahnemann, inasmuch as whenever wine gets into my head I drink\nstill more to get it out again. That's my view of _similia similibus_.\nTell your son what I say.\"\n\nGottlieb Klausner thereupon took up his pen and informed his son what a\nbrilliant opening had thus come in his way at the very beginning of his\ncareer. He would be sure of a post as soon as ever he got home, with a\nnice salary of 2000 thalers. Moreover, he would ride in a carriage, and\ngive his orders to the cook, for he would have to taste of every dish\nbefore it was presented to the Starosta, according to the wont of\nprinces, lest they be poisoned in their meat or drink. How many a man\nwould envy him such an office!\n\nAnd now the two accomplished young men were summoned back to Lithuania.\n\nAll the way to the boundary hillock of the Bialystok domain they\ntravelled in a peasant's cart; but there a noble cavalcade awaited them,\nwith the Major Domo of the Starosta at their head.\n\nThe great gilded carriage of the Starosta, which was only used on the\ngreatest occasions of State, was sent to meet the young men, and to it\nthe four most reliable nags from the Starosta's stables were harnessed,\nwhich went at a slow, dignified, parade step. On the box sat a coachman\nin the national costume, and a couple of heydukes clung on to the straps\nbehind.\n\nThe Major Domo ought to have pronounced a solemn greeting; but he never\nhad the opportunity, for no sooner had the two youths leaped from the\ncart, than a rush was made upon them by the mounted _Szlachta_, who took\npossession of them uproariously, every one who could pressing up to,\nembracing, and kissing them. Besides the youths, there leaped from the\ncart a huge mastiff, the indispensable attribute of University students,\nwho seemed to be greatly attracted by the Major Domo, and kept taking\nvigorous leaps at him. The gentleman in question was wearing a bear-skin\nkaczag\u00e1ny, which the noble beast had evidently determined to tear from\nhis shoulder by hook or by crook, and in the mean time the fine oration\nthe poor Major Domo had prepared for the occasion escaped him\naltogether.\n\nThe new arrivals were really two very nice young fellows--both of them\nheroic-looking figures, though entirely different from each other.\n\nCasimir was dark, with fiery-black eyes. His head was entirely covered\nwith curly hair, he had a luxuriant forelock hanging over his forehead,\nand such a thick, luxuriant crop of hair that it would have blunted the\nedge of a descending sword. His thick eyebrows drew near to each other\nlike bushy-headed serpents--perhaps, also, they would have seized each\nother had they not been separated by the powerful authoritative nose,\nwhich was the characteristic feature of the Moskowski family. Such an\naquiline nose you would not have met with in the whole Sarmatian race,\nand it was fitly accompanied by the protuberant red mouth and the\npronounced double chin, which were also hereditary peculiarities. He was\nhis father's own son, though of a somewhat higher type.\n\nHeinrich, on the other hand, was an excellent specimen of the type of\nmasculine beauty peculiar to the German race. His thick, leonine,\ndark-red hair rolled over his shoulders in luxuriant masses. His face\nwas ruddy, his forehead white, he had a small and delicate nose, with\nsensitive nostrils, large bright-blue eyes, above which the thin\nstraight eyebrows seemed to have been added by a painter's brush. His\nmouth was large, but his lips were finely chiselled, and a large brown\nmole at the corner of the lips gave a peculiar expression to the mouth.\n\nThere was no fear of mistaking one of them for the other.\n\nAnd the dog, too, was a fine dog. He belonged to that race of mastiffs\nwhich in the Hungarian Corpus Juris bears the name of \"sinkor\u00e1n,\" the\nkeeping of which is forbidden in Hungary by a special paragraph of the\ncode.\n\nWhen the f\u00eated gentlemen had been released from the embraces of the\nyoung cavaliers, and the Major Domo from the jaws of the sinkor\u00e1n, the\nnext thing was for them to take their places in the State carriage. The\nnoble youths carried Casimir on their shoulders to the carriage, and set\nhim down on the back seat. Heinrich also was carried on men's shoulders\nto the carriage--only in his case it was not the cavaliers, but the\nheydukes who performed that office, and they placed him in the front\nseat face to face with Casimir.\n\n\"Why may I not sit by my friend's side?\" asked Heinrich.\n\n\"What an odd question!\" said the Major Domo. \"Here you have been to half\na dozen colleges, and learnt so much, and yet you don't know that! A\nsubject _cannot_ sit down by the side of his Prince; and when they ride\ntogether in the same carriage his proper place is the front seat.\"\n\nOf course, it was the regular thing.\n\nMoreover, as the place beside Casimir on the back seat remained empty,\nthe big mastiff leaped into the carriage, and occupied the place of\nhonour by his master's side.\n\n\"Then is a dog allowed to sit down by a nobleman?\" inquired Heinrich,\nindignantly.\n\n\"Certainly, for the sinkor\u00e1n is also a noble animal.\"\n\nAnd then the procession, amidst the crack of pistol-shots, proceeded\ntowards the castle.\n\nIn the castle gate a triumphal arch awaited the new arrivals, and the\nnotabilities of the place were grouped around the entrance, the damsels\narrayed in white and the peasantry in gala costumes.\n\nWhen they reached the gate of the castle, it was not Heinrich's face\nthat was red, but his forehead, and his eyes seemed rather to be green\nthan blue.\n\nHe saw his father among the deputation. He could easily make him\nout--one black cassock was very prominent amidst the dazzling-bright\nPolish parade costumes.\n\nHe did not wait for the carriage to stop, but leaped from it, and rushed\nup to the old man, embracing him again and again with great ostentation,\nand kissing him in the sight of every one. The clergyman did not betray\nthe least emotion.\n\nWhen the congratulatory addresses came to an end, the Major Domo shouted\nto Heinrich--\n\n\"Come, doctor! Get in!\"\n\n\"I am going with my father.\"\n\n\"But I am going on foot,\" said the clergyman.\n\n\"Then, I'll go on foot with you.\"\n\nThey did not press him further. Every one's head was full of something\nelse. The ladies praised the young squire. What a fine fellow he was,\nthey said. The girls flung flowers into the carriage, which went so\nslowly that the foot-passengers could easily keep up with it.\n\nFather and son trudged on together among the ranks of the pedestrians.\n\nPresently the old man began speaking to his son in the Latin tongue, so\nthat the people might not understand him.\n\n\"My dear son, you well remember, no doubt, that I have always looked\nupon lying and deception as the greatest of sins; and from your childish\nyears upwards you have always had a great inclination thereto. You know\nhow many hazel twigs I have worn out upon you in endeavouring to\neradicate that evil tendency. But I see that even now you are not cured\nof it. Look, now! the moment you beheld your poor father amidst a group\nof gentlemen, you immediately leaped from the gilded carriage, ran up to\nme, embraced me, called me _carissime pater_, pinned yourself on to my\ncassock, and accompanied me on foot. You thought you would deceive me by\nall this hypocrisy. Yet all this ostentation of filial piety was only\nbecause you were obliged to sit in the State carriage opposite to your\ncomrade, instead of by his side, and your pride was wounded in\nconsequence. That was why your heart suddenly conceived such a fondness\nfor your father. Look me straight in the face, and tell me if it was not\nso.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was.\"\n\n\"Exactly; it was your pride that suffered. I do not count pride among\nthe more deadly sins, although I know that Petrus Lombardus elevated\nthis opinion into the rank of a dogma. We Protestants are content with\nthe definition of John the Evangelist, who saith that every falsehood is\na deadly sin. Yet pride is not falsehood, but the true image of every\nman. It is the very eye of his soul. Moreover, as a philosopher, you\nmust know very well that whoever attaches himself to a master must make\nsubmission his business. A colonel is a big man; but when the general\nspeaks it is for the colonel to listen; and if the general says to him,\n'Go through fire,' or, 'Go through water,' he must submit and obey. If a\nman who has been born poor would drink and make merry, he must first\nrenounce his pride. When you wanted to choose a career, I left you a\nfine choice. You had only to please yourself. You might have become a\nclergyman, like myself, in the usual way. True, we cook with water and\ndo not throw away our crusts, and when we wear out our clothes we turn\nthem, and so wear them again; but, on the other hand, the clergyman\nalways sits in the front seat, and gives place to no son of man, unless\nit be the Son of God. But this haughty poverty seemingly is not to your\nliking. You say to yourself, '_Dat Galerius opes, dat Justinianus\nhonores._' Well, you have got what you sought. Wealth, a life of comfort\nis in your hands. Galerius has given them to you. He who wants to wear a\nbedizened hat must be prepared to doff it right and left--to high and\nlow. _I_ need take off my _capillum_ to no man. Why do you oscillate\nlike a pendulum? A man must make his own position. If you don't like\nsubjection, turn back, go to G\u00f6ttingen, go through a whole course of\ntheology--then come here, be my curate, and then perhaps in ten years'\ntime you may get a living somewhere. But if you want to live in\nsplendour and comfort, go back to the carriage, and sit on the back seat\nface to face with your lord and master, for that is your proper place.\"\n\nHeinrich, very red in the face, went back to the slowly lumbering\ncarriage, and again took his place in it opposite his youthful comrade.\nAnd thus they went to the town together, and right into the castle.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE CDT-TABLE AND THE CHALLENGING GLOVES\n\n\nThe coming home of young Squire Casimir was celebrated with great\nsolemnity at the palace of the Starosta. The thunder of the mortars, the\nroll of the drums, the blare of the trumpets, announced to the thronging\ncrowd the moment when the parade carriage rolled over the drawbridge. In\nfront of the gate stood a guard of honour of the assembled heydukes,\nunder the command of the Castellan. The Starosta himself had come as far\nas the hall door to welcome his son.\n\nCasimir, according to ancient custom, received his father's greeting on\nbended knee, and kissed his uplifted hand, whereupon the old man,\nthrusting his powerful palm into his son's well-thatched poll, lugged\nhim to his feet by his hair, and, slapping his face gently at the same\ntime, said: \"Come, come, you have put on a mighty fine fleece since last\nI saw you.\" But immediately afterwards he kissed him on both cheeks, and\nthe kiss obliterated the slap.\n\nHeinrich got neither kisses nor slaps, he simply didn't count at all.\n\nA hundred guests were in the large hall, all of them prominent noblemen\nand priests, and all of them embraced the young gentleman in turn, while\nHeinrich they only patted on the shoulder, and while every one said:\n\"_Vitam pana!_\"[16] to the nobleman's son, they only greeted the son of\nthe pastor with: \"_Badz zdrow!_\"[17]\n\n     [Footnote 16: \"Long live your honour!\"]\n\n     [Footnote 17: \"Good health to you!\"]\n\nImmediately after the first interchange of greetings the court tailor\ntook the two youths beneath his protection. It was his duty to give them\nnew clothes corresponding to their rank, they had ceased to belong to\nthe category of students. Heinrich got a brand-new black velvet jacket\nwith puff sleeves, a starched ruff, black atlas knee-breeches, with\nstockings, and shoes with silver buckles--the whole get-up was completed\nby a sword-belt, a broad silver chain wound round the breast with a\nlarge medallion hanging to it, and a black flowered taffety mantle\nfastened to the shoulder and reaching to the heels. When he had taken a\ngood all-round look at himself in the mirror, he was quite proud of his\ncostume. He fancied that it was a great distinction.\n\nBut it was not a distinction, but only a difference.\n\nWhen he entered the great hall, its pomp and grandeur almost blinded\nhim. The walls of the room were embellished by the portraits of the\nLords of Bialystok. There were armorial shields everywhere, and in the\ncorners stood the figures of men in armour. The lofty pointed windows\nperpetuated, in masterpieces of coloured glass, all manner of ancient\nPolish legends. The long table was crowded with artistic plate and\ndrinking vessels of chased gold and silver, with confect-holders\nmimicing the figures of giraffes and elephants. In the midst was a large\nfountain, at the foot of which enamelled dolphins cast lavender-water\nhigh up in the air; and the enchanting spectacle was but enhanced by the\ncostumes of a whole army of guests and the splendour of their weapons.\nHeinrich hardly recognized his dear friend Casimir. He was resplendent\nin such splendid raiment as the Polish magnates are only in the habit of\nwearing at coronations or similar ceremonies. In the midst of so much\nfur and velvet, Heinrich, in his simple black medical suit, felt almost\nlike the inhabitant of another and much humbler planet. While the army\nof guests crowded round Casimir, so that every one might have a chance\nof embracing him at least once, Heinrich was simply thrust aside by an\nelbow or trodden on by one foot after another, and nobody even troubled\nto say: \"_Wymow mie P\u00e1n!_\"[18]\n\n     [Footnote 18: \"Your pardon, sir!\"]\n\nGreat was the crushing and pushing to get into the banqueting-hall,\nwhere every guest immediately sought out his proper place. This was\nquite an easy matter. Every guest who had ever dined at the Palace of\nBialystok had his own beaker on which his name was engraved. As often as\nhe returned thither so often was his particular beaker produced from the\nplate-chest. As for the spoons, knives, and forks, every guest brought\nhis own with him. Aristocratic pride laid down this rule: \"From the\nbeaker out of which I drink none else may drink; the knife, fork, and\nspoon which touches my mouth none else may swallow--neither may I serve\nothers so.\"\n\nHeinrich would also have very much liked to know where he was to sit.\n\nAs a poor man he naturally began to look for his seat at the lowest end\nof the table.\n\nAt the head of the table a large armchair, carved with armorial\nbearings, had been placed, this was obviously the seat of the Starosta.\nOn each side of it stood two smaller armchairs. All the other chairs\nwere armless. The arm of a chair is rather in the way when a man has to\ndrain his beaker to the very dregs. At the head of the opposite end of\nthe long table was the seat of \"the little master.\" _His_ beaker was a\nchristening gift, a crystal goblet upon a golden base.\n\nHeinrich fancied that he would find his seat by the side of his\ncomrade's. But there he found a beaker with another name upon it.\n\nHe had to seek higher. He went searching from chair to chair for a\nsilver beaker marked with his name. On the right-hand side of the table\nthere was no trace of it. Perhaps it was on the left-hand side? Of\ncourse, it must be there.\n\nAgain he began from the bottom and worked his way up, but he could find\nno trace of his name.\n\nBy this time he had got to the topmost armchair. Merely out of curiosity\nhe glanced at the silver beaker placed beside the plate. He couldn't\nbelieve his eyes, and his heart began to beat violently, for on that\nbeaker he read the name--Klausner. But his wonder only lasted for a\nmoment. The Christian name was not Heinrich, but Gottlieb. This place of\nhonour by the side of the Starosta belonged to the Lutheran clergyman,\non the opposite side to him was the Catholic bishop.\n\nThus did they exalt the simple curer of souls, while his son, the\ndoctor, was not even included among the guests.\n\nMuch hurt he turned to the Major Domo.\n\n\"Then am _I_ not invited to the banquet?\" he asked.\n\n\"Invited, doctorkin! What a question! Of course you are. Why, you are\nthe most important person here. Why, the banquet couldn't begin without\nyou.\"\n\n\"But where am I to sit, then?\"\n\n\"I'll show you immediately. But you must first let all the other guests\ntake their places. All their honours are now assembled. We are only\nwaiting for his reverence, your dear father.\"\n\n\"But he arrived along with us.\"\n\n\"True for you. But their honours come in their coaches or on horseback,\nso that they may not make their green or yellow boots muddy on the road,\nwhile your dear father came all the way on foot, so that he has to have\nhis shoes polished before he can come in.\"\n\nThis was honour indeed. First of all, however, the pastor had to go and\npay his respects to the Starosta, and he appeared along with him in the\nbanqueting-chamber when the heydukes threw open the folding-doors. It\nwas such a large door that three men could enter it abreast; and three\nmen _did_ enter now, the master of the house in the centre, with the\nbishop on his right and the pastor on his left.\n\nAt the appearance of the Starosta the trumpets blew a flourish, and\nevery guest took his proper place at the table.\n\nThen the bishop pronounced a long grace in Latin, every one present\nmurmuring the Doxology after him, except the Rev. Master Klausner, who\nbelonged to another confession, and who, after the Latin prayer was\nover, pronounced a blessing in his own language:--\n\n\"_Der Herr segne euch und s\u00e4ttige euch!_\"[19]\n\n     [Footnote 19: \"The Lord bless you and satisfy you!\"]\n\nThen followed the creaking of chairs drawn forward, and every one\nsettled comfortably into his place.\n\nHeinrich wondered what was going to happen to _him_.\n\nHe had not to wait long. A couple of bustling heydukes brought forward a\nlittle three-legged table, covered with a fine linen cloth, and placed\nit behind the armchair of the Starosta. They also placed a chair by the\nside of this little table, and put upon it a silver trencher, a beaker,\nand the usual dining apparatus. His knife, spoon, and fork were much\nmore costly than the knives, spoons, and forks of the other guests. The\nMajor Domo, with his ivory wand, indicated to the doctor that that was\nhis place. The body-physician always sits behind the Starosta. It is his\noffice to exercise a dietetical and gastronomical superintendence at\nthe magnate's table.\n\nAnd that he might have a board-fellow, the big mastiff Caro now came up,\nand Heinrich being his best-known acquaintance, he put his head on the\ntable--he was a big dog, so he could just reach it. He was determined\nthat Heinrich should have a _vis-\u00e0-vis_, anyhow.\n\nHeinrich tried to perform the duties of his queer office with due\ndignity.\n\nEvery dish was put on his table first, and he had to taste each one of\nthem first of all.\n\nThat of itself was a great dignity, surely! Every great man ought to\norder his table after a similar fashion. He ought to have a\nhouse-physician standing beside him at every dish, to say: \"You are free\nto fill your distinguished stomach with that; but this, on the other\nhand, you are not so much as to look at.\"\n\nMonsieur Heinrich was a disciple of Hahnemann, so he began to raise\ndifficulties as early as the soup.\n\n\"Don't touch it, your Excellency!\" said he. \"It is poison. As the verse\nsays: 'Ginger and saffron, nutmegs, cloves, and pepper only thicken the\nblood and clog the stomach.'\"\n\nThe whole company laughed heartily, but they shovelled down their soup\nall the same.\n\nThe next dish was wild-boar's head stuffed with celery and truffles, and\nflanked with cold jelly.\n\nAgainst this dish Heinrich was able to intone a whole litany when the\nmaster who invented it presented him with a small slice of it on a\nsilver platter.\n\n\"The head of every beast is forbidden food,\" he said; \"and as for the\nwild boar, no part of him is good, from hoof to scull. As for the\ntruffle, it grows under ground, and brings those who eat it under\nground; while celery inflames the blood, and gelatine neutralizes the\ngastric juices; it is no fit food for men.\"\n\nAt this the Starosta laughed more than ever.\n\n\"But you must take me at my word, gentlemen,\" insisted Heinrich. \"I eat\naccording to the principles of the immortal Hahnemann. That dish is\npoison to you, I say.\"\n\n\"It is a very slow poison. For the last fifty years I've been killing\nmyself with it, and yet here I am,\" cried the Starosta.\n\n\"Yes; but it is the cause of the gout in your knees, the colic in your\nstomach, the spasms in your side. You may also thank it for your\nsleepless nights and the humming in your ears, as well as for heartburn,\nerysipelas, and St. Vitus's dance. I, your house-doctor, certify that\nyou partook of this poisonous dish at your own table, and indigestion\nand apoplexy are only a prayer apart.\"\n\nBut Casimir spoilt everything by his intervention. From the other end of\nthe table he bawled to his comrade--\n\n\"Come, come, old chap! Surely you don't want to play the part of Doctor\nPedro Recio de Tiertafuera at the banquet given by Sancho Panza, in his\nofficial capacity of Governor! All these gentlemen have read 'Don\nQuixote,' you know.\"\n\nAnd with these words he regularly flung his comrade out of his doctorial\nchair. The whole company laughed heartily at him, and even the Rev.\nPastor himself apostrophized his son with the facetious citation:--\n\n\"_Descende Philippe, non sunt hic ollae!_\"\n\n\"Then why have I been put here?\" inquired Heinrich, in great wrath, of\nthe Major Domo.\n\n\"Why? Why, to taste of every dish, to see that there is no deadly poison\nin it which might make a man suddenly ill.\"\n\n\"Then the dog Caro here could perform my office equally well.\"\n\nAnd henceforth Heinrich flung the cut-off portion of every dish\npresented to him to taste into the jaws of the mastiff, who snapped them\nup in an instant, and was highly delighted with his new duties.\n\nThus the doctor himself absolutely starved during the sumptuous banquet,\nfor not a single dish was ever brought back to him, the remains being\nsent into a side room, where, at a table without a table-cloth, sat the\nlower order of guests, such as the begging friars, the clerks who acted\nas secretaries, and the court poets. The latter usually went by the name\nof \"court fools\" when they had more than common genius, but not every\npoet merited this higher title, for there were bores among them too, and\nthese remained poets, and nothing but poets.\n\nThe favourite amongst them all was the house-fool, Lupko, who had also\nbeen invited into the gentlemen's dining-hall, and was there practising\nevery sort of tomfoolery, letting off literary squibs, imitating feline\nand canine concerts, and the squeaking of stuck pigs, turning his hat\ninto twenty different shapes, tootling in a bottle, and drumming in the\nhollow of his hand, and drinking glasses of wine at the same time that\nhe was imitating the scream of a peacock.\n\nNaturally, in these things Heinrich could by no means compete with him.\n\nAll the guests treated Lupko with wine; but none of them said to the\ndoctor, \"What will you drink? Fetch wine for the doctor.\"\n\nCasimir also joked familiarly with the jester--nay, he almost openly\nurged him to go along and try conclusions with the doctor.\n\nStudents love to heckle each other, especially if one of them has had a\nfull skin at table.\n\nSo the fool skipped away to the doctor.\n\n\"_Servus humillimus collega!_ For colleagues we really are. Yes,\n_doctores ambo_! The only difference is that on your head is a college\ncap, and on mine a cap with pointed hare's-ears. _Evoe Bacche!_\"\n\nAnd with that he clapped Heinrich on the shoulder.\n\nAt this Heinrich was very angry, but still angrier was the mastiff to\nsee his master hit on the shoulder by a hunch-backed rascal, so he\nrushed at him incontinently, placed his paws on his neck, and snatched\nfrom his head the fur cap adorned with the two projecting hare's-ears.\n\nThe fool tried to recover his cap, but the dog would not give it up, so\na great debate began between the dog and the fool. The doctor's little\ntable was overthrown in the midst of the scrimmage, and finally the cap\nwas torn in two, half of it remaining in the hands of the fool, and the\nother half in the jaws of the mastiff.\n\n\"Silence, you God-forsaken rascals!\" cried the Starosta; \"don't you hear\nthat his reverence is trying to say grace?\" And with that he seized the\nSpanish cane which was standing beside his chair, and belaboured with it\nthe dog's back and the jester's body at the same time, and so restored\npeace between them.\n\nAnd now the reverend gentleman stood up in his place, and, raising his\nbeaker unctuously aloft, pronounced a Latin grace full of graceful turns\nof expression, invoking blessings on the heads of the Starosta, his son,\nand their remotest posterity. The blessing was followed by a great\nclinking of glasses, and every guest drained his goblet to the very\ndregs.\n\nWhen the din of the vivats and the blast of the trumpets had subsided,\nthe Starosta spoke from his place at the head of the table.\n\n\"Deo Gratias, my thanks for all these pretty wishes. And look now, to\nshow in what great respect my reverend neighbour here is held in heaven\nabove, I may mention that his kind wish that my family might flourish in\nthe days to come had scarce died away when an answer to his petition\nthat instant arrived. For I have just received, from the glorious city\nof Vienna, a letter from my dear friend, Prince Maximilian Sonnenburg,\nin which he informs me that the dearest wish of his Excellency, and of\nhis Excellency's consort, the Princess Ludmilla Rattenburg of Tannenfels\nand Buntevi\u00e9z, corresponds with mine, to wit, that their only daughter,\nthe Princess Ingola Sonnenburg and Rattenburg should be betrothed to my\nson Casimir.\"\n\nThis famous piece of news was instantly greeted with a vivat which made\nthe very rafters ring. Every guest hastened to congratulate Casimir.\n\nBut he, from the other end of the table, bawled to his father--\n\n\"But is the lady beautiful?\"\n\n\"I have her portrait here. They sent it with the letter.\"\n\nAnd he drew from his side-pocket a little miniature in a jewelled frame.\n\nNaturally every one wished to look at it.\n\nBut the Starosta would not let it go out of his hand.\n\n\"Ho, ho! Softly, softly! It is only the bridegroom who has the right to\nlook at it.\"\n\nThen he turned round, knowing that Heinrich was behind him. \"Look ye, my\nson,\" said he to the doctor, \"take this portrait to Casimir, but show it\nonly to him and to none other. You may look at it, too, because you are\na doctor. Do you understand physiognomies? Can you say, from looking at\nthis portrait, whether the little Princess is phlegmatic, or choleric,\nor, which God forbid, of a melancholy temperament?\"\n\nWell, this was a great distinction for Heinrich. He took the portrait to\nCasimir, and showed the portrait to him first of all.\n\nThe bride in the portrait was of mythological loveliness. She was\npainted as Sappho, in a Greek chlamys, with her golden tresses flowing\ndown her shoulders, and her arms bare to the shoulder. The portrait,\npainted on ivory, was a masterpiece of water-colouring.\n\nCasimir was unable to conceal his enthusiasm at the beauty of his bride.\n\"She is a veritable goddess!\" he cried.\n\n\"Worthy indeed of adorations!\" cried Heinrich, with still greater\nemphasis.\n\nNobody else was allowed to look; only they two were so privileged.\n\nBut the jester burrowed his way out from beneath the table, and thrust\nhis head between them that he might cast a glance at the portrait.\n\nHeinrich gave him a box on the ears, and hid the picture from him.\n\n\"Would you?\" said he; \"this is no spectacle for fools.\"\n\nNow a fool, even in those days, drew the line at a box on the ear, and\ndid not take it kindly; on the contrary, it was apt to make him angry.\n\nSo, instead of his torn and tattered pointed cap, he drew forth his\nprotean hat and placed it on his head, after forming it into the exact\nshape of the biretta worn by the Rev. Master Klausner. Then he wound\nround his neck a bed-curtain, making it take the guise of the reverend\ngentleman's well-creased cassock. And in this guise he planted himself\nbeside the table and raised his glass.\n\nThe guests made a clatter with their glasses by way of indicating that\nLupko was about to speak. At last there was silence, and the jester was\nable to begin.\n\nIn his voice and delivery he managed to throw an audacious imitation of\nthe pastor. He dismissed his words through his nose with the same\nunctuous solemnity, and amplified the ends of his periods just as the\nreverend gentleman was wont to do.\n\n\"My worthy gentlemen,\" he began, \"I also have to disemburden myself of a\njoyful piece of intelligence which has just reached me through the\ndog-post from Siberia, from the illustrious capital of mighty Siberia,\nIrkutsk. I have got the letter written in Tungusian hieroglyphics on\nreindeer parchment, and this letter informs me that the mighty Prince of\nthe Samoyeds, Pan Subagalleros, on behalf of himself and his consort,\nher Highness Pana Csoroszlya, has this day betrothed his only daughter,\nPanicza Kaczamajka, to my only son Heinrich.\"\n\nThe army of guests burst into a loud ho, ho! at this farcical parody,\nthe trumpets blew a frightfully loud flourish, every one roared with\nlaughter, and even the worthy pastor himself smiled gently at the\nfooling.\n\nFor, after all, it was but fooling. Perhaps Heinrich would have laughed\nat it likewise if he had been drinking all through the banquet with the\nrest of the merry company. But remember that he had remained hungry and\nthirsty throughout, and a sober man in a society that has well drunken\nis a danger to mirth.\n\nCasimir also had guffawed at the words of the fool. It was a rough jest,\nno doubt, but who would take the folly of a fool seriously?\n\nOnly Heinrich remained pale and silent, and pressed his lips together\ntill the blood came.\n\n\"Come, comrade, why so dumfoundered? Surely you are not angry?\" bawled\nCasimir.\n\nBut Heinrich continued moody and sulky.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe grand banquet was not terminated, but interrupted by a ball. The\nStarosta himself gave the signal by lighting his big meerschaum pipe,\nwhereupon the other gentlemen followed his example, and began their\nbeloved fumigation by the side of their black coffee. The musicians\nthereupon quitted the dining-room, and a short time elapsed, during\nwhich they also took a snack, and then the music began again over the\nheads of the guests, in the upper story of the palace, which could be\nreached from the dining-room by means of a spiral staircase.\n\nAs soon as the inspiring notes of a mazurka burst forth from above, the\nfiery youths spurned their chairs away, and without waiting for a\nspecial invitation, hastened up the spiral staircase into the\ndancing-room. Those of the elderly gentlemen whose feet were capable\n(after dinner) of grappling with the tortuous stairs, followed them.\n\nOn the upper floor was the dancing-room, brilliantly illuminated with\nwax candles, where were now assembled the flower of the belles and the\npick of the stately matrons of the Lithuanian capital--a goodly company\nwho reached the ballroom by the opposite staircase.\n\nHeinrich, swallowing his wrath, and oblivious of the pangs of hunger,\nalso hastened up to the dancing-room, which was now quite full of\nladies.\n\nThe girls were standing, the more mature women were sitting, according\nto custom.\n\nHeinrich also found the idol of his heart among the girls. Six years\nbefore she was a growing little lassie, now she was a damsel in full\nbloom. In those days they had dearly loved each other, and had sworn\nthat they would belong to none else. There stood the beautiful and\ncharming Tatiana in front of her mamma. She was wearing the Russian\nnational costume, with an apron embroidered with pearls and a coif\nadorned with precious stones. She was the daughter of a Russian\n_chinovnik_[20] whose father had been sent from St. Petersburg to keep\nthe Poles in order.\n\n     [Footnote 20: Official.]\n\nThe beautiful girl had grown in a marvellous manner during these six\nyears, she was the tallest among the damsels present, and her lofty\nRussian coif made her appear even taller than she was.\n\nJust then a good many couples were dancing a mazurka.\n\nHeinrich made his way up to his former ideal, and, bowing first of all\nbefore her dear mamma, with a chivalrous flourish demanded the hand of\nher daughter for a dance. It was six years since last he had seen her.\n\nThe stately damsel proceeded deliberately to draw off her long,\nembroidered gauntlet.\n\nHeinrich was amazed. What an odd custom for a lady to draw off her glove\nwhen invited to dance!\n\nThe young lady extended her hand towards Heinrich, her smile was\nsomewhat peculiar.\n\n\"Miss Tatiana?\" stammered Heinrich.\n\n\"Well, doctor! I thought you wanted to feel my pulse!\"\n\nHeinrich was crushed. They were making game of him. He was no cavalier,\nbut only a doctor, apparently. He rather wondered the lady did not\nprotrude her tongue as well, to make the consultation quite complete. It\nonly needed that.\n\nHe seemed to have lost the use of his limbs, and stood there like a\nstone idol. But some one speedily came to his assistance by shoving him\nout of the way. It was Casimir. He signified that he desired a dance\nwith the lady by simply stamping the ground with his foot, as became a\ncavalier, and she immediately gave herself up to him, and Casimir passed\nhis arm around her slim waist and flew with her among the maze of\ndancers.\n\nHeinrich gazed after them in stupefaction. So that was his former\nsweetheart, and this his former comrade! How the girl's eyes sparkled\nwhen she gazed at the face of her partner! They seemed to hold one\nanother fast by the eyes. The mazurka has its charm, certainly. The\ncavalier stands in the midst with his arms folded, after dismissing his\npartner, who moves gracefully round him in a circle. Yet the damsel\ngazes continually into the eyes of her cavalier, and the magic of his\neyes draws her back to him again. And then it is as though they were\nwhispering to each other.\n\nWhen the dance was over, Casimir led his partner to the credenz-table\nand offered her refreshments. Thither also strolled Tatiana's papa,\nworthy Nicholas Eskimov. The girl embraced her father, kissed him on the\ncheek, and whispered something in his ear. Then she flew back into the\n_colonne_ on the arm of her partner. There are many figures in the\nmazurka, Heinrich had every opportunity of studying them to the end from\na window recess.\n\nWhen the dance was over, Casimir returned his partner to her mamma, and\nafter a good deal of genuflecting and hand-kissing, took his leave of\nher. Heinrich at once hastened to his comrade and began to reproach\nhim.\n\n\"Why did you take my sweetheart from me?\" he asked.\n\nCasimir first of all regarded him with amazement, and then laughed in\nhis face.\n\n\"What a foolish chap you are! Why, it was only natural that I should\nhave the first dance with the fair Tatiana in our own house. That is the\ncustom all the world over.\"\n\n\"Why is it the custom all the world over?\"\n\n\"Why? It seems to me that you do not realize that during the six years\nwhen you and I have been walking up and down the earth, not only the\nlittle girl has grown something bigger, but her papa also. The\nchinovnik, whom six years ago you helped to copy legal documents, is\nnowadays Governor of Grodno. His Excellency now lives in the town, and\norders about even my father, the Starosta. And I am only my father's\nlittle son. Little Tatiana has grown big while you weren't looking at\nher, if you want her you must grow bigger yourself. Only don't make such\nan ecce homo face; go, rather, and pay your respects to his Excellency,\nthe Governor. He is a very big wig now, I can tell you!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nEVERY ROAD LEADS TO ST. PETERSBURG--BUT WHITHER DOES ST. PETERSBURG\nLEAD?\n\n\nAnd now it suddenly dawned upon Heinrich why Tatiana's papa, Nicholas\nEskimov, was placed next to the Bishop. Truly he was a great potentate!\n\nA far-seeing idea popped into Heinrich's brain. He went to the\ncredenz-table, where refreshments were being distributed, and where also\nthe Governor was delighting his eyes with the spectacle of the pretty\ngirls dancing, and at the same time sipping a glass of iced sherbet.\n\nHe bowed deeply before him, and saluted him in Russian--\n\n\"Zdorovuyte!\"[21] he said.\n\n     [Footnote 21: \"Your health!\"]\n\nThe Governor tapped the doctor on the shoulder.\n\n\"So you have come home! And got an appointment too, I hear?\" said he.\n\n\"But I don't want to keep it.\"\n\n\"Then what _do_ you want?\" asked Eskimov, regarding the youth through\nhis glass.\n\n\"A wider career. Here at Bialystok there is no scope for a doctor,\nespecially if he be a homoeopathist. Here, if anybody is ill he wants the\ndoctor to drink the medicine with him in whacking tumblers, and won't\naccept a recipe unless it covers a whole sheet of foolscap. True there\nwill be no end of bleedings and cataplasms, but the whole of modern\nmedical science is absolutely thrown away upon them. There is no getting\non here. The Pole lives in his traditions. I want to go to St.\nPetersburg. There there is a fine open career for an enterprising\ndoctor. St. Petersburg is the new Rome. Every road leads to it. I beg\nyour Excellency to give me letters of introduction to your acquaintances\nin the Tsar's capital, that beneath their protection I may go on to\nprosper.\"\n\n\"Well, I should like to pack you off myself and I'll give you the\nletters of introduction at once. When do you want to go? To-morrow!\nImmediately! So much the better. But hold! my son! We never give\nanything gratis in our part of the world, we always like something in\nexchange. Apparently you are the good comrade of young Squire Casimir,\neh?\"\n\n\"That depends.\"\n\n\"But I noticed just now that when Squire Casimir finished dancing with\nmy daughter just now you had a private chat with him. At least answer me\nthis question: if a Pole gives his word to any one, does he keep it?\"\n\n\"Well, I can tell your Excellency so much: if a Pole gives his word to a\ncomrade, he will go through fire and water for him; if he gives his word\nto an enemy, he will return to his prison; if he gives his word to a\ntyrant, he will bear that tyrant's yoke;--but if he gives his word to a\npretty girl he will forget it as soon as he turns upon his heel.\"\n\n\"It is not only the Poles who do the last thing. But just one more\nquestion, and accordingly as you answer it truthfully I shall know what\nto think of you. You heard the congratulations made to the Starosta when\nhe announced the betrothal of his son to a Viennese Princess; you saw\nher portrait, for the Starosta let you have it. Tell me truly, on your\nhonour, which is the lovelier of the two, my Tatiana or the Viennese\nPrincess?\"\n\n\"Your Excellency! Paris never had so much difficulty in pronouncing\njudgment when called upon to award the golden apple to one of three\ngoddesses, as I should have to decide which of the two girls is the\nlovelier in my eyes. But one thing I _can_ tell you. In the background\nof that portrait are painted two splendid castles. Those castles, with\nall the appurtenances thereof, will be part of the bride's dowry. And\nthose two castles are very fine castles.\"\n\n\"Good. I know everything. To-morrow, after dinner, come to me at the\nfortress for your letters of introduction.\"\n\nAfter that Heinrich vanished from the dancing-room, he returned to his\nown room to devise artful plans for the future.\n\nEvery evil inclination was now aroused in his bosom: envy, shame, anger,\nand slighted love--those four monsters who never close an eye and are\nalert even when they are asleep.\n\nAt dawn of day he was summoned by the Starosta. The old fellow was\nsitting in an armchair with a mottled purple face and breathing heavily.\n\n\"What ails your Excellency?\"\n\n\"I am waiting for a stroke or for a surgeon to open a vein, and the\nquestion is which will be the quicker,\" replied the Starosta,\npleasantly.\n\n\"Well, I've come first, you see.\"\n\nAnd then he performed the little surgical operation on the Starosta\nwhich his constitution demanded after every banquet.\n\n\"Well done, my son. You understand your business, I see. What a pity you\ncan't remain at my court here.\"\n\n\"What does your Excellency mean?\"\n\n\"The Governor has been talking to me. He says you want to go to St.\nPetersburg. You are right. But he also advised me to send my own Casimir\nto the Russian court. There's a great career open there for such youths\nas he who can read and even philosophize a bit. The Muscovites love\nphilosophy. Well, with us a little of it goes a long way. _We_ always do\nwhat the warmth of our hearts suggests to our brains, and don't waste\nmuch time in deliberation. Well, go together. I'll send after you the\nsalary I promised you for your official services here, and in return I\nwill only ask you to keep watch over my son, lest any evil befall him.\"\n\nHeinrich pressed the hand of his benefactor. He understood the allusion.\n\nIt was the usual pretext: to advance a person in order to remove him.\n\nThe Governor had observed that Casimir had brought the girl back to her\nmother _by her left hand_. Let the young squire go to St. Petersburg!\n\nAfter dinner, Heinrich went to town, to the Governor's. He gave him the\npromised letters of introduction and two passports, one for himself and\none for Casimir.\n\n\"So Squire Casimir goes with you? Well, my son, I lay it upon your soul\nto let me know everything that he does or intends to do during his stay\nat St. Petersburg. Do you understand me?\"\n\n\"Perfectly, your Excellency.\"\n\nScarce a year had passed since the two young men had departed for St.\nPetersburg, when one night they returned home together to the Castle of\nBialystok.\n\nIt was a dark night when they arrived, and they came to the gate of the\npark, which they opened with the assistance of their keys and got into\nthe Castle without the knowledge of the family. They sought the\nStarosta.\n\nThe old man was sitting all alone in his bedroom, in a large armchair.\nHe was betwixt three tables, one in front of and one on each side of\nhim. On the table in front of him was a large book printed on vellum,\ncontaining the history of Lithuania (each chapter beginning with\nbeautiful big illuminated letters), from the days of the first pagan\nGrand Duke. On the other two tables were placed flasks of all shapes and\nsizes, and of a religious character, coming as they did from Chartreuse\nor Benedictine monasteries, not to mention other similar elixirs worthy\nof equal praise. He was astonished when he saw the two young men enter.\n\n\"Has the magic bird griffin brought you hither?\" he cried.\n\n\"Yes, the bird griffin has indeed brought us hither,\" said Casimir to\nthe Count. \"I mean that griffin who clutches hold of the mightinesses of\nthis world and carries them to the mountains of Kaf.\"\n\nAnd then he told his father how a world-illuminating idea had come to\nbirth in the capital of the great Russian empire, which aimed at nothing\nless than freeing all the nations of the earth from tyranny. A powerful\nleague had arisen, with the Grand Duke Constantine at its head, for the\nannihilation of tyrants. The members of this league were all the nations\nof the Russian Empire, and the fifth of these nations was Poland. The\nsixth and seventh, who did not yet belong to the Russian world-empire,\nwere the Wallachians and the Magyars; but these also were going to join\non. Every member of this holy league carried by way of a symbol a\ncopper ring, whose sevenfold monogram contained the initial letters of\nthe seven nations.\n\nOld Moskowski welcomed the idea with great delight.\n\nEverything was ripe for a rupture. The army had been won over to the\ncause of the Revolution. In the various provinces, administrative\ndetails had already been arranged, and to every one his part had been\ndistributed. To Casimir Moskowski was assigned the insurrectionary\nprovince of Volhynia. The signal was awaited from St. Petersburg. As\nsoon as the Revolution had broken out and gained ground there, the\nsignal would be given to all the other chief towns, to the South\nRussians in Kiev, to the Tartars at Kazan, to the Crimean peoples in\nBogchiserai, to the Finns in Helsingfors, to the Poles at Warsaw--the\nRevolution would raise its head simultaneously in all these places. And\nbefore long the concerted outbreak would spread from Bialystok to Perm,\nOdessa, and even to distant Tobolsk.\n\nThe Starosta was ravished at the prospect.\n\n\"But how about the Governor?\" he said.\n\n\"Nicholas Eskimov will be seized in the citadel, together with the\ngarrison.\"\n\n\"And then he shall sweep the courtyard of the Palace of Bialystok,\"\ncried the Starosta, \"and that stuck-up little daughter of his, Tatiana,\nshall wash the crockery in my scullery.\"\n\n\"But all this must be kept secret till the signal arrives from St.\nPetersburg for a general rising.\"\n\nThere was only one thing which nettled the old Starosta. As the Holy\nLeague had included Volhynia among its provinces, why did they not\nconfide the leadership of the insurrection to the man best entitled to\nit; in other words, to himself, the father? Why give it to his son?\n\n\"Well, you know, you are very old, and drink a great deal.\"\n\nAt last the old man accommodated himself to the new order of things.\nAfter all, if his son became the chief man in Volhynia, the glory of it\ncould not fail to rebound upon him.\n\nFrom that day forth the two young men remained hidden in the Castle;\nnone knew of their whereabouts.\n\nThey were to receive the stipulated signal from St. Petersburg by\npigeon-post.\n\nAnd one day the post-pigeon really did arrive at the Castle.\n\nThey found among its tail feathers a thin membrous letter, to whose\ncipher Heinrich possessed the key.\n\nHeinrich took the letter and unhusked its contents. \"Bad news--the very\nworst,\" he cried; \"the Revolution broke out at St. Petersburg, but was\ninstantly suppressed. All the leaders of the league have been seized.\n_Sauve qui peut!_\"\n\n\"There you are,\" said the Starosta. \"I'm old, and drink too much, eh?\nBut if I want to do anything, nobody shall stand in my way but myself.\nYou are young and wise; that is why you can talk so much and do\nnothing.\"\n\n\"Our sole safety is now in flight,\" said Heinrich. \"The pigeon-post has\njust brought us the bad news, but as yet the Governor knows nothing\nabout it. He will only be informed of it officially to-morrow\nafternoon. We have the start of him by two days. We ought to take\nrefuge at once.\"\n\n\"Where?\" inquired the Starosta.\n\n\"Our way is plain. Austria is quite close to us. Vienna will not deliver\nup political refugees. There, too, is Casimir's future father-in-law,\nand he is a man of great political influence. We must take shelter under\nhis wings. Only let the first fury pass away over our heads; the rest\nwill be a matter of high diplomacy.\"\n\nSo the two young men resolved to fly towards the Austrian frontier. The\nRussian Government would know nothing of their flight thither and their\nstay there.\n\nA week later the Starosta received a letter written by Heinrich, in\nwhich he was informed that the two young men had safely crossed the\nborder and arrived in the Austrian capital, proceeding at once to the\nPrince's family mansion, where they had been very heartily welcomed.\nThere was no danger. They had simply denied any participation in the\nrevolution. The ambassadors would make all the rest easy.\n\nMoskowski hastened to communicate this joyful intelligence to the Rev.\nMr. Klausner, who, in the mean time, had again become the daily guest of\nthe Starosta's.\n\nStill greater satisfaction did it afford Moskowski when he read all\nabout the St. Petersburg rising in the newspapers and those implicated\ntherein; and at the same time he frequently met Governor Eskimov, who\ncontinued to treat him most affably, and never once inquired about his\nson or ever alluded to the conspiracy at St. Petersburg, treating it as\nan affair which did not concern either of them the least bit in the\nworld. Naturally, Moskowski himself took good care to let the matter\nalone.\n\nAfter a very short delay a letter arrived for the Starosta from the\nPrince von Sonnenburg, in which he informed his dear friend that his\nonly daughter Ingola had that very day before the altar been united by\nthe insoluble bonds of holy matrimony to Squire Casimir, the Starosta's\nson. Simultaneously, Heinrich sent a letter to his father,\ncircumstantially describing the pomp and splendour of the wedding, after\nwhich the happy pair had retired to the ancestral Castle of Sonnenburg.\nThence they were to proceed to Italy for the honeymoon, and they\nproposed to take him, as doctor, along with them.\n\nOn hearing this joyful intelligence, old Moskowski attended a plain Mass\nfrom mere thankfulness.\n\nAnother year had elapsed, when Squire Casimir himself informed his\nfather by letter of a joyful family event. A little son had been born to\nhim, and both mother and child were doing excellently well. He was to be\nnamed Maximilian, after his maternal grandfather.\n\n\"There you are,\" cried old Moskowski in triumph to the Rev. Mr.\nKlausner, \"a grandson with the name of Maximilian, a grandson of an\nAustrian prince! _He_ never _can_ become a boor. Was there ever a\nMaximilian in the world who came down to that? Never! A fig for all your\nJewish prophesies!\"\n\nAfter that there arrived frequent letters from the bride, letters\nwritten in a fine, elegant hand, with a soft flowing pen. And in these\nletters the highly cultured _grand dame_ drew, without end, idyllic\npictures of the bliss she shared with her Casimir.\n\nPresently there came an agreeable communication subscribed by the\nChancellor of the Imperial Court officially informing the Starosta that\nhis son Casimir had been promoted to the rank of major in the First\nImperial Uhlan regiment.\n\nA year later a second joyful family event was announced. \"A second, eh?\"\nHis name was Stanislaus. To him, at any rate, they gave a good old\nPolish name.\n\n\"Ah, how I should like to see them all!\" sighed the old Starosta.\n\nBut his old bones did not like the idea of a long carriage journey. The\nCity of Vienna is, alas! a terrible distance from Bialystok.\n\nNever mind, what one cannot see face to face can be presented fairly\nwell in a picture; and the loving daughter-in-law painted the two little\ndescendants in the act of embracing each other, with their two little\ncurly polls all mixed up together. The tears regularly flowed from the\neyes of the old Starosta as he gazed upon this pretty picture.\n\n\"These never can become serfs; no, never!\"\n\nAnd fresh presents arrived.\n\nThey sent from Vienna the twofold family tree of the Moskowskis and the\nSonnenburgs, blended together in a harmonious whole. It was wrought in\ncopper-plate with masterly engravings. Not a fault could be found in it.\n\nThen the old Starosta wrote a letter with his own hand to his children,\nto his son and daughter-in-law. He called them \"my children\" expressly\nin this letter. He assured them he was longing for the time when he\nshould see them all in the ancient Castle of Bialystok. The Tsar would\ncertainly grant an amnesty to those who had been compromised in the\nrising of 1824, and had taken refuge abroad. He trusted the Almighty\nwould permit him to see that time. He also thanked Heinrich for cleaving\nso faithfully to Casimir. He was a worthy young man, who deserved all\nrespect.\n\nAnd a worthy young man he was indeed. He wrote his father a letter every\nweek, and every now and then he sent a little money home, although his\nearnings were very small.\n\nAnd once more the Starosta received an official letter from Vienna, in\nwhich the Lord High Steward informed him, in the most obliging manner,\nthat his Majesty, the Emperor and King, had advanced Casimir Moskowski\nto the rank of lieutenant-colonel, and at the same time decorated him\nwith the golden key of a Kammerherr.\n\n\"What, my son a lieutenant-colonel!--in the mighty Imperial army! Ah,\nhow I should like to see him in his fur-bedizened red uniform! And I\nwonder where he'll hang his Kammerherr key--on his breast or in his\ngirdle? If only I could see his face! My dear pastor, do write once more\nto Heinrich, and urge him to say to my son, 'Have your portrait painted\nfor your father's sake, at full length, life size, sitting on horseback,\ncommanding your regiment, and send it on to him. It would be the very\nbest Christmas gift you could give him.'\"\n\nSo the Rev. Gottlieb Klausner wrote to his son, declaring the wish of\nthe affectionate father, and duly got an answer from him.\n\nBut this answer greatly angered the two old gentlemen.\n\n\"Casimir will not let himself be painted; he is tormented by the\nsuspicion that those who are painted in their youth will die young.\"\n\n\"Did ever any one hear such rubbish?\" growled the Starosta. \"_My_ son\nsuperstitious! And a superstition, too, the like of which I never heard\nof! What was the good, then, of his learning philosophy, metaphysics,\nand chemistry? _I_ never took my degree at Utrecht, yet even I don't\nbelieve such nonsense. That comes of settling down in Vienna, you see.\nHe's got mumpish and stupid.\"\n\n\"I'll soon find a remedy for all that,\" said Gottlieb Klausner. \"I know\na famous painter at Vienna who has a peculiar talent. If once he has had\na good look at any one, he can go home and paint that person's portrait\nto the life without the person so painted knowing anything about it. I\ncan certainly trust him with this commission.\"\n\n\"Do it for me, by all means. I'll send him a thousand dollars in advance\non account, and if when the picture arrives I recognize my son, I'll\ngive the painter whatever he likes to ask for it.\"\n\nA few months afterwards Klausner got his answer from the painter. The\npicture was already on its way, well packed up, frame and all. A\nfour-horse waggon would bring it from Vienna to Bialystok. Let them only\nkeep an eye on the frontier custom-house officers, lest they injured\nit.\n\nThe bringing of the picture to the house was a veritable triumphal\nprogress. It was packed in a gigantic case, and it required four master\ncarpenters to open it and disentangle it from all its swathing bands and\nwrappings.\n\nOn the same day on which the picture arrived, the Governor intimated to\nthe Starosta that he was inviting himself to dinner at the latter's\nhouse.\n\n\"So much the better,\" said the Starosta. \"I should like him to be\npresent when they bring in the picture. Don't tell him anything about\nit. Let it be a great surprise for him. How the chinovnik will stare\nwhen he sees Casimir in the imperial uniform! I wonder if the painter\nhas painted his golden key?\"\n\n\"He cannot paint that,\" said Klausner, \"because these Kammerherr\ngentlemen wear it behind their backs.\"\n\n\"What, wear a mark of distinction behind! Who ever heard of such a\nthing?\"\n\nMr. Eskimov arrived punctually to dinner. There were only three at\ntable--the Starosta, the clergyman, and the Governor--and they very\npleasantly drank a few glasses of Tokai together. When the pipes were\nproduced, by way of winding up the repast, the Governor observed--\n\n\"Well, my good sir, we can now talk together about a very serious\nbusiness. I didn't want to put you out in any way during the meal. I\nwant to speak to you about your _poor_ son.\"\n\n\"Oh, that won't put me out in the least; though I don't know why you\nshould call him _poor_. I, for one, don't consider my son's fate at all\na sorry one.\"\n\n\"Come, now, that's very noble of you to be so content with the Tsar's\nexalted measures, and not consider your son's fate so terrible,\nespecially as I may at once give you the assurance that his fate has now\ncome to an end; the Tsar has just issued a general amnesty for the\nleaders of the rebellion of 1824.\"\n\nMoskowski shrugged his shoulders. \"My son held no leading part in that\nrebellion.\"\n\n\"Come, come, my dear Starosta, don't tell me that. I am acquainted with\nall the details of the process. I know exactly what part Casimir took in\nit. I took a lot of trouble to get the capital sentence commuted to\nlifelong transportation to Siberia.\"\n\n\"My son in Siberia?\"\n\n\"Yes. The Tsar's clemency delivered him from it not so very long ago.\"\n\n\"My friend, that little drop of Tokai has got into your head. You\nshouldn't play with your glass; take bigger gulps, and cure yourself\nthat way. My son was never in Siberia.\"\n\n\"Indeed! Why, I sent him there myself. I have about me my letter on the\nsubject to the Governor of Tobolsk, which I sent to him seven years\nago.\"\n\n\"And I have a letter of congratulation from the Lord High Steward of the\nImperial Court, in which he informs me of the promotion of my son to the\nrank of a major of Lancers.\"\n\n\"Your son a major of Lancers! Why, he's a raskolnik.\"\n\n\"A raskolnik? They would not be likely, I think, to give a Princess of\nSonnenburg in marriage to a raskolnik.\"\n\n\"A Princess of Sonnenburg to your son! You're mad! Why, I seized him\nmyself when he was attempting to escape across the border. He could not\ndeny that he had taken part in the rebellion, for we found on his person\nfull powers from the revolutionary committee. It was a good job for him\nthat he also had about him his academic diploma, which certified that he\nunderstood chemistry and mining. Those delinquents who understand the\nscience of mining are treated with particular favour: they do not get\nthe knout, and are not put in chains. But, on the other hand, they are\nobliged to utilize their knowledge in the gold mines of the Urals.\"\n\n\"My son in the gold mines of the Urals! You are beside yourself,\ncomrade.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, I am a good deal in advance of you. This was in the\nbeginning of 1825.\"\n\n\"What was in the beginning of 1825? At that very time my son was\nenjoying his honeymoon in Italy. He wrote to me there, from the summit\nof Vesuvius--he and his consort.\"\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha!\" laughed the Governor. \"Your son's consort wrote to you!\nThe daughter of a Samoyede chief wrote to you from the summit of\nVesuvius! Ha, ha, ha!\"\n\n\"Don't enrage me, my son! Do you mean the Kamtschatka to which that mad\nVulko alluded?\"\n\n\"I don't know the name of your son's consort; but I do know that she is\nthe daughter of a Samoyede chief. The Governor of Siberia has sent me\nregular reports about your son Casimir every year. I expressly asked him\nto do so. One year your son spent in the gold-mines of the Urals, and\nthen, because of his good conduct, and also out of regard to his father,\nhe was permitted to devote himself to agriculture on the banks of the\nJenisei. There he fell in with a Samoyede stock, good, honest,\nhospitable people. The chief's daughter fell in love with him, and they\ngave her to him. Casimir built himself a _jurta_, as they call their\nhuts, reared reindeer, ploughed up a bit of land, and settled down there\nwith his Siberian rose, and in the mean time two children have been born\nto them.\"\n\n\"I know--I know it right well,\" said the Starosta, whose long-repressed\nlaughter now burst forth, \"and he has sent his father their portraits.\"\n\n\"His father? Their portraits?\"\n\n\"And two pretty little fair-haired chaps, too!\"\n\n\"Fair-haired! Has _he_ got fair-haired children, too?\"\n\n\"One of them has been christened Maximilian, after his maternal\ngrandfather; the other is called Stanislaus.\"\n\n\"I had no idea there were ancestral Maximilians and Stanislauses among\nthe Samoyedes.\"\n\nBut now the Starosta began to grow really angry. He struck the table\nviciously with his fist.\n\n\"In the name of St. Procopius, what do you mean? We have had about\nenough of this Siberian joke and these Samoyede princes. You must not\njest so with me. D'ye hear?\"\n\n\"And I protest by St. Michael that I am not jesting at all, but that you\nare jesting with me; and your jesting is very much out of place, and out\nof season, too. D'ye hear?\"\n\n\"Very well. I'll fetch this instant the letter of the Lord High Steward\nat Vienna, and that will open your eyes a bit.\"\n\n\"And I'll produce letters from the Governors of Tobolsk, Irkutsk, and\nJeniseisk, and that will make you prick up your ears.\"\n\nThe two distinguished gentlemen were on the point of coming to\nfisticuffs when, fortunately, the pastor, always sober-minded,\nintervened between them.\n\n\"Pray be calm, your honours,\" said Gottlieb Klausner. \"Why all this\nbarren strife? Have we not here the very portrait painted for his honour\nthe Starosta by a famous Viennese painter--the portrait, I mean, of\nSquire Casimir in the uniform of a lieutenant-colonel of the Imperial\nand Royal Uhlans? That picture will be the best means of deciding which\nof you is right.\"\n\nTwo heydukes thereupon brought the huge picture in its bronzed frame\ninto the room, and they leaned it up against the wall.\n\nAnd as they all three gazed at the picture--and, remember, they were all\nof them strong-minded men--they bounced back in amazement, as if they\nhad seen a spectre.\n\n\"Lord have mercy upon us!\"\n\nAnd yet it was an extremely handsome picture, too, painted in a most\nmasterly manner--true to the life. An officer of Uhlans, a manly and\npicturesque figure. Tawny, lion-like locks flowed over both shoulders;\nhis ruddy face, blue eyes, and light eyebrows went very well together.\nAt the corner of his smiling mouth there was a little mole.\n\n\"That is my son,\" gasped the clergyman, and he fell senseless to the\nground.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE EXCHANGE\n\n\n\"'Tis the way of the world,\" Heinrich Klausner had said to himself when\nhe had locked himself into his attic after that memorable ball. \"I am\nnobody. I am not recognized among living beings. I am empty air; people\nlook through me without seeing me. In society I am alone with the\nservants. At table I sit beside a big dog. I am the sport of the court\nfool. If they think of me at all it is only to laugh at me. They promise\nme the daughter of a Samoyede chief to wife. Pretty girls put out their\ntongues at me when I ask them for a dance. And why? Because my name is\nHeinrich Klausner, and by profession I am only a doctor. Casimir every\none kisses and embraces and exalts. Casimir's health is drunk. Casimir\ncarries the national standard. The dignity of Starosta will one day be\nCasimir's. Casimir opens the ball. Casimir may do anything. All the\ngirls adore Casimir. Casimir gives his right hand to the daughter of a\nprince at Vienna, and his left hand is good enough for my former\nsweetheart. Why? Because his name is Casimir Moskowski, and he has a\nnoble title before his name. What if we were to change places? Then who\nwould have the daughter of the Samoyede chief to wife, the Kamskatka\nlady?\"\n\nIt was thus that the demoniacal idea was first hatched in his breast.\n\nFirst of all, he induced the Starosta to send his son to St.\nPetersburg. In the foreign Universities they had frequently come across\nyoung democratic Russians belonging to the great league whose object it\nwas to depose Tsar Alexander and put in his place the Grand Duke\nConstantine, and then to form from the provinces of Russia, Poland,\nHungary, and Wallachia a confederation of constitutional states. The\npillars of this project were the leading members of the Russian\naristocracy.\n\nHeinrich felt certain that if Casimir could be got to St. Petersburg he\ncould easily be inveigled into this league. His enthusiastic spirit,\nresponsive to every noble idea of liberty, would be unable to resist the\ntemptation which would be all the stronger as it sprang from its most\nnatural source, the love of the ardent and fanatical Poles for their\ncountry. Such a grand part would satisfy all his desires. He would be\nthe Voivode of liberated Volhynia. His hands would hold the banner\nemblazoned with the Ureox of Grodno. His birth, his rank, his\nriches--everything would entitle him to the _r\u00f4le_ of leader. It was\nimpossible to conceive that he would refuse the offer.\n\nWhen, then, the plans of the conspirators had so far matured that the\nday for the outbreak of the insurrection was already fixed upon, the\nrevolutionary committee authorized Casimir to begin the rising in the\nProvince of Volhynia, and, with this object, Casimir and Heinrich\nproceeded to Bialystok.\n\nThe St. Petersburg rising meanwhile was crushed as soon as it broke out.\nIn vain they made the Russian soldiers believe that the \"Constitutsyd\"\n(the constitution) was the name of the consort of the Grand Duke\nConstantine--they preferred the Tsar to any such lady.\n\nThus all those who had been sent to provoke a popular rising in the\nprovinces were obliged to fly for their lives so long as the frontier\nstill remained open, and it was then that Heinrich betrayed his friend\nto Eskimov, the Governor of Grodno.\n\nThe pursuing Cossacks overtook them on the frontier. But the Cossacks\nonly had orders to seize Casimir, so they let the doctor go.\n\nCasimir, however, had taken the precaution to hand over all his papers\nto Heinrich, not only those on account of which they might prosecute\nhim, such as the credentials of the revolutionary committee, but also\nthe letters of introduction from his father to the Vienna magnates, the\nSonnenburg princes. Nothing whatever was found upon him.\n\nBut Heinrich sent the compromising documents to Eskimov by the first\npost, together with Casimir's academical certificates.\n\nHe himself continued his journey to Vienna without interruption. On\narriving at the imperial metropolis he announced himself wherever\nCasimir's letters of introduction gained him an entry as Count Casimir\nMoskowski. His refined, distinguished appearance, social charm, and\nbrilliant accomplishments made the fraud easy. The acquaintance with the\nStarosta and his whole environment, but especially his intimacy with\nCasimir, had placed him in possession of the deepest family secrets\nwhich justified the false part he was playing. His chivalrous bearing,\nmoreover, completely won the heart of the young princess. The engagement\nbetween them contracted from afar through other hands, became a\nveritable love-match, and it soon won powerful supporters in Court\ncircles. He took part in all the court festivities, for he had no lack\nof money wherewith to maintain a splendour corresponding with his\ndignity. He quickly mounted the rungs of the ladder of rank. He was\nfree-handed with his money or rather with the Starosta's. In a very\nshort time the false Count Moskowski was one of the most f\u00eated, one of\nthe most envied personages at the Imperial Court.\n\nHe had nothing to fear from anyone. In the whole empire none knew\nanything of Heinrich Klausner. Who was he? Nothing at all! Empty air.\nThose who looked at him did not see him. The deception could not be\nunmasked. The old Starosta could not come from Bialystok to Vienna on\nany account. Gout and corpulence would not let him. He himself could not\ncross the Russian border with his consort to visit his father, for he\nwas proscribed and an exile, and even if he could get an amnesty, a\nPolish refugee prefers to hate the Russian at a distance and avoid his\nterritory.\n\nBut how about the genuine Casimir Moskowski? Well, he has very good\nreasons not to come to Vienna. Even if he has not already died beneath\nthe blows of the knout, he may calculate upon lifelong imprisonment in\nthe mines of Siberia or on the endless snowfields, and while his good\ncomrade is making his fine charger caracole to the delight of the lovers\nof sport at the Imperial Court, or guiding countesses through the mazes\nof the minuet at Court balls, or receiving the congratulations of\nforeign envoys, or responding to the toasts of his noble colleagues on\nhis name-day, and living out his days in an earthly paradise in the arms\nof the loveliest woman in the world and choosing aristocratic names for\nhis children--in the mean time, the nameless man from whom he has\nfilched his family name, is known by no name at all, but simply by a\nnumber fastened to or painted on the jacket which he wears on his\nback--No. 13579. Why on earth should convict No. 13579 think of visiting\nVienna? All that _he_ sees before him is a huge piece of rock which he\nhas to break up in order to get at the vein of gold within. And even if\nthey release him from that, it will only be to conduct him still further\ninto the depths of Siberia, to the colonies of the skin-hunters. There\nhe will have to collect sufficient sable and ermine skins to enable him\nto get permission to settle down somewhere by the banks of the river\nwhere he may plough the land and wring bread from the earth by the\nlabour of his own hands, and in winter time tan leather and carve little\nhuman figures out of walrus tusks for the Samoyedes. Perhaps also he may\nget a consort from the chief of one of the tribes of these nomadic\ntent-dwellers, a short-legged, tubby, seal-like beauty, with whom he may\ntaste the joys of family life. Find out the name of this new princess if\nyou can, but don't look for it in the Almanach de Gotha. Yes, the true\nCasimir Moskowski has been very well disposed of.\n\nBut suppose the White Tsar were one day to utter words of mercy and\ngrant an amnesty to the rebels deported to Siberia? Well, even then,\nthere will be no cause for anxiety. To those who receive permission to\nreturn from Siberia to Russia is always assigned a particular town in\nwhich they have to dwell, a good distance from the capital as well as\nfrom their own homes. And this town they must never leave, nor are they\npermitted to go abroad.\n\nThen, too, the Starosta cannot live for ever; he is bound to have a\nstroke some day. Heinrich felt quite secure. He need fear nobody. Yet\nstay; there was one man he _did_ fear. He did not feel sure of his own\ndear father. It might occur to the clergyman one day to take a journey\nto Vienna to _see his own son_.\n\nBut this eventuality was also provided for. The false Moskowski had\nprovided on purpose for it a modest little lodging in the suburbs poorly\nfurnished, where the doctor might be able to receive his old father in\nan austere environment. A special costume was held in reserve for that\noccasion--should it ever occur.\n\nAnd if, perhaps, which was more than probable, Gottlieb Klausner wished\nto see his distinguished patron in the Sonnenburg Castle, against that\ndanger also Heinrich had provided an antidote. In the later letters to\nhis father he had tried to make the old man believe that for some little\ntime he had good cause to be angry with his dear friend, Casimir, and,\nin fact, things had come to such a pass between them that he had been\nforbidden the Prince's door. If, on the other hand, the clergyman went\nby himself to see the Princess, he knew very well that his consort would\nnot receive him. He had already explained to her pretty clearly that\nHeinrich Klausner was the traitor whose treachery was the cause of his\nexile, and consequently he was quite sure that the Princess would tell\nher servants to show the father of the treacherous comrade the door.\n\nMeanwhile he kept up his correspondence with the Starosta, having learnt\nto imitate Casimir's handwriting most exactly, and in all these letters\nhe was constantly complaining of Heinrich. So skilfully did he enwrap\nhimself in a spider's web of lies that it was impossible to catch a\nclear glimpse of him through it.\n\nThere was only one thing he had never thought of--that his picture might\nbe painted for the Starosta without his knowledge. And this was the very\nidea which had occurred to his father.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nNEMESIS\n\n\nA great festival was being held in the Castle of Sonnenburg. It was the\nsixth birthday of little Prince Maximilian.\n\nThe little lad had just recovered from a severe illness; from one of\nthose epidemics especially dangerous to children.\n\nHeinrich during his son's illness had frequently been on the verge of\nbetraying himself. Three doctors had been summoned to the Castle, and\nnot one of them possessed his up-to-date knowledge. And all he could do\nwas to listen to their disputes while they were in consultation. How he\nwould have liked to exclaim: \"You are charlatans, the whole lot of you!\nPoisoners! Ignoramuses! I can diagnose the case quite well; you can't.\"\n\nHe had to bury his knowledge out of sight. Two or three pillules\nadministered in homoeopathic doses would immediately have cured the\nchild's weakness, and he could not give them to him. He was not allowed\nto save his own child. He was obliged to look on while _his colleagues_\nexperimented with, tortured, the child. He could not reveal to them that\nhe was a physician. Ah, ah!--then where is your diploma? And his diploma\nwas in the name of Heinrich Klausner.\n\nAnd self love was stronger in him than paternal love. So he was silent,\nand looked on cold-bloodedly at the torments of his child.\n\nAnd at last nature and a mother's prayers prevailed against the severity\nof the disease. Little Max, despite the united operations of three\nspecialists, actually recovered. It was on his very birthday that he was\npermitted to leave his room.\n\nThat day was kept in the Castle as a joyful festival. The grandparents,\nthe Prince of Sonnenburg and his wife, had come to the house. The feast\nhad been a calm and quiet rejoicing from beginning to end. No guests\noutside the family had been invited.\n\nAt the end of the meal, just as the father, his face radiant with\nhappiness, had risen with a glass of foaming champagne to propose the\nhealth of the grandparents, the Major Domo came in from the ante-chamber\nand whispered something in the ear of the young Princess.\n\nFor an instant, Ingola angrily contracted her brows, but the next moment\na benevolent smile lit up her face.\n\n\"No. To-day I will be angry with no one. To-day I am ready to forgive my\nmortal foe. Let him come in.\"\n\nBut at the sight of the visitor, as he passed through the doorway, the\nchampagne glass which had been raised for the toast fell from\nHeinrich's hand, and he himself collapsed into a chair.\n\nThe visitor was Gottlieb Klausner; he had entered the banqueting-room in\nhis simple black cassock.\n\nHe made straight for his son, and, placing his muscular hand on his\nshoulder, shook him out of his benumbing stupefaction.\n\n\"What do you want with Prince Casimir Moskowski?\" exclaimed old Prince\nSonnenburg.\n\nThe clergyman, in a dry, scornful voice, replied: \"This man is not Count\nCasimir Moskowski, but my son, Heinrich Klausner, betrayer, impostor,\nthief.\"\n\nThen, scarcely audible, he murmured to his son: \"Rise and follow me.\"\n\nHeinrich rose mechanically from the table and allowed his father to\nseize his hand.\n\nThen the Princess Ingola, full of fear, shrieked: \"My husband! What are\nyou doing with my husband?\"\n\nThe clergyman turned round, and with his long, lean, extended arm\nindicated another visitor whom he had brought with him; and who, before\nhe made his appearance, had been leaning against the lintel of the door.\n\n\"Your husband, Princess Sonnenburg, is standing there. That is Prince\nCasimir Moskowski, your lawful consort.\"\n\nThe creature standing against the door was the exile just returned from\nSiberia; a creature broken down by oppression and suffering, with a mop\nof tangled hair and a long beard prematurely grey; his face livid and\nsunken, and prematurely aged by a network of wrinkles; bentbacked, with\nhands purple, frost-bitten, and horny from hard labour. Six years in the\nschool of Siberia had reduced the stately son of the Starosta to this.\nJust look at him!\n\nAt the sight of this spectre, Heinrich quickly snatched a knife from the\ntable, but his father still more quickly wrenched it from his grasp\nbefore Heinrich could draw it across his throat.\n\n\"Oho! my son! You don't get out of it so easily. You must make an\nexchange. The convict's coarse sheepskin awaits you. Your name is\n'13579.' You can easily remember it; it is a perfectly straightforward\nseries of odd numbers. Your predecessor bore it for six years.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd the exchange really took place. Both the Austrian and the Russian\nGovernments agreed that this scandalous fraud must be kept a profound\nsecret, which would have ruined two of the most illustrious families of\nboth empires. They also compelled the party most interested in the\naffair, the clever impostor, to make a late reparation. Moreover,\nCasimir had his property returned to him on condition that he\nacknowledged the Princess Ingola to be his consort. The Princess was\nalso obliged to take him for her husband in order to procure for her\nchildren the family name, and the right of succession to the property.\nThey all went together to Bialystok, and there they lived, as well as\nthey could, joyless, cut off from the world, with their doors closed\nagainst every one.\n\nBut Heinrich they sent to the banks of the Jenisei. They shoved him into\nthe sheepskin which had been made expressly for convict No. 13579, and\ngave him his predecessor's digging implements, sledge--and Samoyede\nconsort.\n\nAnd the old Starosta lived for a long time after that. He lived long\nenough to see the death of the children bearing the name of Moskowski,\nboth Maximilian and Stanislaus; he lived long enough to see the family\nname of the Moskowskis become extinct. No other offspring came to supply\ntheir place.\n\nBut the veritable offspring of his flesh and blood, the little\nSamoyedes, increased and multiplied like sparrows. Their descendants now\npeople the plains of the Jenisei, and very careful and industrious\npeasants they are.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nTHE CITY OF THE BEAST\n\n_A CHAPTER FROM THE HISTORY OF A VANISHED CONTINENT_\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE TABLES OF HANNO\n\n\nPlato, the Sage of classical Greece, speaks in his writings of a strange\ncontinent which, if historians and geologists are to be believed, must\nhave lain somewhere between the island of St. Helena and the coast of\nAfrica. The poets and philosophers of antiquity called it Atlantis,\nOceania, or the Fortunate Islands.\n\nIn those days the earth was still a divinity to whom man raised altars.\nIn those days men had not arrived at the overpowering conviction that\nthe whole globe was nothing more than a wretched mite of a ball, which\nthe sun, out of regard for the equilibrium of the universe, or, perhaps\nfor the mere fun of the thing, twirls round and round. They had no idea\nthat you could sail completely round it; measure it; weigh it and\ncalculate exactly how long it has lasted and how much longer it is\nlikely to last. No! The Earth still retained the nimbus of divinity;\nwas still regarded as immeasurable, infinite, incomprehensible; and the\nsun, moon, and stars were popularly supposed to be his vassals.\n\nAbove the earth was heaven; below the earth was the Styx, and the\ndwellers on the earth lived in intimate relations with them both. No one\nhad an inkling that the blue expanse above was only the reflection of\nthe sun's rays refracted through the vapours of the earth, and that\nneither the gods, nor the blessed, could endure to live up there for the\nintense cold. No one knew that only the upper rind of the earth was\nsolid, and that in the depths below the heat was so intense that the\ndevil himself could only exist there in a molten condition.\n\nIn those days the earth was still an unappropriated domain. The poet\ncould picture to himself bright fairy worlds beyond the continents\nalready known, and the popular imagination was free to people the\nuninhabited wilds with all manner of marvels and monsters.\n\nThe wondrous thoughts of a poetic spirit betray themselves in these\nideas and guesses. The spirit of invention three thousand years ago\nspoke of two gates which the then known world was said to have. One of\nthese gates lay in the far north-east, between the snow and ice-clad\nAltai mountains, which set bounds to the wanderings of the nations.\nBeyond this mountain chain it was said you could hear the din of Gog and\nMagog, whom the mighty conqueror Alexander had thrust out of the world\nbehind gates of bronze, and who ever since have been baring and blasting\nrock and mountain, and digging subterraneous ways in order to escape\nfrom their prison. Woe betide the world and all that dwells therein if\never they succeed in forcing their way through the woody Imaus and\nappear, with their hairy faces, angular heads, unknown tongues, arms,\nand clothing, and deluge the world from end to end like the stroke of a\ngreat spirit paint-brush, which, after filling its canvas with mighty\nnations, splendid cities, and world-renowned conquerors, should suddenly\nwipe them off again at a single sweep in order to paint fresh subjects.\n\nAt the opposite end of the world, in the warm south-west, where the gaze\nof the dreamer loses itself in the endless blue mirror of ocean, the\npoet pictured to himself that happier world which sprang from the\nrapturous embrace of heaven and earth; a world where the air is balmier,\nwhere love is sweeter, where man is more valiant and woman more\nfaithful; where the light knows no shadow, joy no grief, and the flower\nno fading; where everything--herbs, trees, and the hearts of\nmen--rejoices in an eternal youth.\n\nIt is an odd phenomenon in the psychology of nations, that popular fancy\nshould always have painted the North with the pale and sombre hues of\nfear and terror, whilst she looked for the fulfilment of her\nunattainable hopes to the equally dim and impenetrable South, and\nconstantly sent her dreams and her sighs in that direction.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the days when Rome, still in her first bloom, had begun to be the\nmistress of those regions which the geographers of antiquity called the\nknown world, there arose another young city on the opposite seashore,\nalmost over against that great boot which we call Italy, and which, when\nonce it had a good strong foot inside it, was to conquer the world with\nsuch rapid strides.\n\nThe new metropolis sprang from the ground as rapidly as Rome herself.\nThe legend still lives of its imperious foundress, who purchased from\nthe strange king as much land for her fugitive people as could be\ncovered with an oxhide, and now that plot of land, once meted out by a\nbuffalo-skin cut into strips, was already the seat of a great empire,\nand of all the coast land round about, and might perhaps have won the\ndominion of the whole world besides--if Rome had not chanced to be in\nthat very world at that very time. Two centres the world cannot have;\nround two axles the earth cannot revolve.\n\nThis young city was called Carthage.\n\nMen counted 330 years from the foundation of Carthage, which time\nChristians call 550 B.C., when the following event took place in the\ncity of Carthage.\n\nThe captain of a merchant vessel, who very often touched the African\ncoasts in the way of business, had been absent from his native land so\nlong that his funeral feast had been held; his wife had wedded a second\ntime, and another had succeeded to his office. Suddenly, when no one\never expected to see him again, he reappeared at the entrance of the\ngreat double harbour, which shut out the sea by means of huge chains,\nand had not its equal in the whole world, not even in Tyre itself, the\noldest of all trading cities.\n\nThe mariner's name was Hanno. The whole city knew all about him, and\nevery one now said how wonderful it was that Hanno should have come\nback again, after remaining away so long.\n\nAnd he brought back with him treasures and curiosities such as no man\nhad ever seen before, not even in dreams.\n\nIt was the custom at Carthage for the merchants who traversed distant\nlands to record the sum and substance of their experiences on marble\ntables, which tables were then preserved in the Temple of Kronos, which\nwas in the heart of the city, near to the circumvallated Byrza. That the\nGod of Time also possessed a temple there proves that, even in those\nearly days, the fact that time is the greatest of all treasures, that\ntime is money, was generally recognized at Carthage.\n\nSo Hanno's tables were placed on the altar of Kronos. These tables the\npeople were not allowed to see. The inspection thereof was solely\nreserved for the Council of Elders, the grey Senators whose business it\nwas to calculate how the information thus acquired could be turned to\nthe profit of the fatherland.\n\nThe very next day after Hanno's tables had been placed on the altar, he\nwas summoned to the dwelling of the Governor, which stood on a little\nisland, midway between the two havens, exactly opposite the Gate of\nElephants. At that time Carthage had already 260 gates and 650,000\ninhabitants. A wall 180 feet high encircled the city on the land side;\nthe cupolas of her palaces sparkled with gold; and, high above all her\npalaces, towered a temple whose walls were of black marble, whose\ncolumns were of alabaster with silver capitals, and from the top of\nwhose domed roof rose a huge golden cupola, surmounted by four silver\nwings.\n\nThe Archon led Hanno over the scarlet, asphalted bridge, and, stopping\nshort midway in front of the huge statue of Baalti, bade him survey the\nstreets and public places of the huge city, along which a motley tide of\nhuman beings was ebbing and flowing, while whole armies of elephants,\nwith heavy loads and gaily painted towers on their backs, were striding\nalong the thoroughfares.\n\n\"Look, Hanno! Dost thou not see how great the city hath grown during thy\nabsence, and how the number of the people hath increased in like\nmeasure?\"\n\n\"It hath indeed become as great again,\" replied the mariner.\n\n\"Wouldst thou not be sad at heart if these palaces were one day to fall\nto the ground, if nothing but bats and serpents were to dwell in the\nplace of these busy crowds, so that the stranger who heard tell of\nCarthage must needs ask: 'But where, then, is this great city? Who is\nthere that can tell me anything about it?'\"\n\n\"God forbid.\"\n\n\"And if one were then to make answer to the stranger, and say: 'That\ncity once ruled half the world, and her fall dates from the day when a\ncertain seafarer, called Hanno, returned from a long voyage,' wouldst\nthou have that come to pass?\"\n\n\"Astarte and all the good gods preserve me from such a thought.\"\n\n\"Then guard thy lips, and take heed to what thou sayest before the\nCouncil.\"\n\nSoon afterwards Hanno stood in the council chamber. The elders of the\ncity sat round about the walls, and Hierkas, the eldest of the Senators,\nwith a white beard reaching down to his girdle, held in his lap the\nlarge stone tables on which Hanno's experiences were recorded.\n\n\"Hanno,\" said the eldest of the elders to the seafarer, \"thou hast been\nabsent for years from thy native land; we waited for thee and thou\ncamest not. In thy native land palaces, treasures, beautiful gardens,\nfruitful fields were thine; at home thou hadst a lovely wife and beloved\nslaves, and yet thou couldst find it in thy heart to remain away so\nlong. Are the things true which thou hast recorded on these marble\ntables?\"\n\n\"True every whit, and nought added thereto.\"\n\n\"Is it true that thou wast tossed by tempests on to a great continent in\nthe far west, a continent larger than all the rest of the known world\nput together?\"\n\n\"It is even so as I have said.\"\n\n\"Is it true that the winter there is as warm as the summer here, the\ngrass as high as trees are with us, and the beasts as wise as men?\"\n\n\"So it is in very truth.\"\n\n\"Is it true that there the women are fairer and fonder, and the men\nbraver and mightier than with us; that there the very air is a healing\nbalm, which heals the sick and makes the coward valiant, and the\nill-favoured comely?\"\n\n\"I have said it.\"\n\n\"Is it true that gold abounds there like sand, that precious stones are\nto be found on the mountain-tops, and pearls and purple on the\nseashore?\"\n\n\"So have I found it.\"\n\n\"Thou hast said that thou didst see a plant, the roots whereof yield\nfruit sweeter than bread; that thou didst find a reed which yields\nhoney, bushes which furnish wool white as fallen snow, and a tree from\nthe pierced bark whereof flows streams of wine, while vessels full of\nmilk grow beneath its crown?\"\n\n\"All this have I seen, and to prove it I have brought of them all back\nwith me.\"\n\n\"Hast thou not also brought back with thee a wonder-working bird with\nhuman speech and man's understanding?\"\n\n\"I have it on my ship.\"\n\n\"Hast thou spoken with others of these things?\"\n\n\"Only on the marble tables are my secrets recorded.\"\n\n\"Thy sailors have not yet been in the town, then?\"\n\n\"None of them have left the harbour.\"\n\n\"Then, Hanno, return to thy ship.\"\n\nThey led the mariner back to his ship. Late the same evening the vessel\nwas escorted by four men-of-war into the open sea, where, after\nstripping her of boats, sails, and helm, they deluged her on all four\nsides with what was known long afterwards as Greek fire. In an instant\nthe inextinguishable flames had ignited the planks, and there, on the\nopen sea, Hanno's ship, with its owner, its crew, and the gold-dust, the\nbread-fruit, the sugar-canes, the cocoa-nuts, and the talking-bird which\nthey had brought back with them, were utterly consumed. The fire burned\neverything down to the very water's edge.\n\nAnd a proclamation went forth in the streets of Carthage, that whoever\npresumed to say a word about Hanno's happy land should be instantly\noffered up to the goddess Astarte, and if a Senator should dare to\nbetray a word of what was written on Hanno's marble tables, he should be\nstoned at the entrance of the harbour, and his bones strewn in the sea.\n\nFor if the men of Carthage had but learned that such a happy land\nexisted anywhere under the sun, they would have quitted their native\nland in troops, the palaces would have fallen to pieces from decay, bats\nand serpents would have dwelt within the gates, and thus the day would\nhave come when the stranger, on hearing the name of Carthage mentioned,\nwould have asked: \"But where, then, is the site of that great city?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nBAR NOEMI, THE BENJAMINITE\n\n\nIn the days when great Tyre still stood in all her glory, and her\nmerchant vessels left not even the East Indies unexplored, there dwelt\nin that city a rich seaman, Bar Noemi by name.\n\nHis name tells us at once that he was a native of Palestine. He was,\nindeed, one of the few survivors of those Benjaminites who had been\nextirpated, together with their city, by the men of the other eleven\ntribes, to avenge the dishonour done to a single woman. And the\npunishment was certainly deserved--the men of Benjamin had dishonoured a\nwoman who came to their city as a guest. It was a righteous deed to root\nout such men. Bar Noemi was still a mere child when he escaped from\ndestruction; he had had no share, therefore, in the sins of his fathers,\nand he knew besides that they had been put to the edge of the sword by\nthe Lord's command, the strong God, Jehova the avenger, who, midst the\nthunders of Sinai, had written on the tables of stone with His own hand:\n\"The face of the strange woman shall be sacred to the strange man, and\nwhosoever trespasses against her shall die the death!\"\n\nBar Noemi knew very well that this sentence had been rigorously executed\nupon the inhabitants of a whole city, yet he never renounced the faith\nof his fathers on that account; but clave strictly to the traditions of\nHoly Zion even in the midst of the city of delights, and sacrificed\ncontinually to the strong avenging God who visits indeed the sins of the\nfathers upon the children even to the fourth generation, but also\nrewards their virtues down to the thousandth generation.\n\nYet the gods of Tyre and Sidon were ever so much more agreeable. They\nsuffered the altar of Love to stand in their temples. Anybody was free\nto offer thereon doves or goats, according as his love was chaste or\nunchaste. No one was taken to task for the sins of love; on the\ncontrary, mortals were initiated into mysteries which taught them how to\napproach, through insensible gradations of delight, the heaven of\nbliss--or hopeless damnation.\n\nBar Noemi neither visited Astarte's temple, nor allowed himself to be\ninitiated into her magical mysteries. He was satisfied with observing\nhis own religious feasts and fasts with prayer and thanksgiving, and\nevery year scoured all the boards of his house at the Passover, and\nraised the green booths in his garden at the Feast of Tabernacles. And\nthe inhabitants of Tyre let him do as he chose. A trading nation is wont\nto be tolerant in matters of religion. Besides, the religion of Israel\nwas nothing new to the Tyrians. The two nations had often come into\ncontact, sometimes with iron in their hands, but much more often with\ngold and silver. As Bar Noemi reached man's estate, he was reckoned\namong the richest merchants in Tyre. His fifty galleys conveyed purple\nstuffs, real pearls, and oriental spices from continent to continent.\n\nHe himself was the hardiest of mariners. He was frequently absent with\nhis ship twelve months at a time. His sailors were all of them picked\nmen of the tribe of Levi.\n\nBar Noemi was the first to discover how to sail from the Red Sea to\nCarthage without being obliged to transport one's wares on camels from\none coast to the other, thus avoiding the grievous, exorbitant tolls\nimposed by the Egyptians upon the Phoenician merchants. None of the older\nmariners had found out the secret. The Cape of Good Hope was still an\nunknown point to the trading world, and men shrank back in terror from\nthe hostile winds and tempests which environed it.\n\nAt Carthage, Bar Noemi had learnt to know the daughter of a merchant,\none of those Punic beauties whom the Roman ladies loved so much to\nimitate. The fairest of complexions was made still more fair by\nwonderful saffron locks; the large blue eyes had long black lashes; the\njet eyebrows were arched and bushy; the lips a deep purple, and the skin\nas soft as velvet, and as white as alabaster.\n\nAfter the first Punic war, the Roman ladies, in order to win back their\nhusbands and lovers from these fascinating foreign belles, did all in\ntheir power to make their own charms correspond with the charms of the\nCarthaginian beauties. They coloured their locks with saffron, tied raw\nflesh to their skins at night, and heightened the colour of their lips\nwith red salve. But Nature had given all these things gratis to the\nCarthaginian beauties. Art could not supply those long golden locks from\nwhich they manufactured bow-strings in the hour of their country's\nmortal agony; or those voluptuous supple limbs which bled beneath the\nweapons of Rome in the last evil hour of Carthage.\n\nByssenia, Bar Noemi's bride, was one of these beauties. Her father was\nsatisfied with the marriage gift which Bar Noemi brought his daughter;\nmerchants always regard it as a great point to have the question of\ndower settled before the conclusion of the match.\n\nAnd Bar Noemi was much more than a mere rich man. He was a handsome man,\nand valiant and haughty to boot, a man who never humbly bowed his head,\nand thought it a shame to cast down his eyes before any one. He was wont\nto say that no one had a keener glance than the lightning, or a more\nterrible manner of speech than the raging sea, and these he had long ago\nlearnt to defy.\n\nHis acquaintances and all the great men of the city assembled on his\nwedding-day at the house of the bride's father, while the Carthaginian\ndamsels led the bride into the grove of Astarte, that she might bathe\nfor the first time in the sacred spring whence she was to be led to the\naltar of the goddess, there to be united to the bridegroom. When,\nhowever, it came to the bridegroom's turn, according to Phoenician\ncustom, to offer to the gods of wood and stone the sacrifices which they\ndemand from all men, Bar Noemi, to every one's astonishment, answered:\n\"Our God is Jehovah,\" and refused to bring any offering to the idol.\n\nThe elders and high priests were much offended by these bold words, and\nconferred together in whispers as to what they should do with the\naudacious stranger.\n\nFirst they led him into the halls of Astarte, whom the people adored in\nthe shape of a beautiful woman in white marble. They showed him the\nmysteries of the ritual devoted to the Goddess of Love, the sweet,\nseductive secrets which confound the human soul, the sense-bereaving,\nvoluptuous shapes which, under various names, have found worshippers in\nall ages down to the latest times.\n\nBar Noemi hastily turned away his eyes from the captivating sight, and\nstammered: \"Jehovah is our God.\"\n\nShaking their heads, the elders and high priests proceeded further, and\nled Bar Noemi into the temple of the great and glistening god Dagon,\nresplendent with gold and silver, where the molten image of the God of\nRiches sits in a ship of mother-o'-pearl, laden with pearls and precious\nstones, and swimming in a basin of quicksilver instead of water. Then\nthey represented to Bar Noemi that even if he would not bow before the\nmagic of Love, he might well bend the knee before the terrible symbol of\nRiches, for the mighty Dagon grants wealth and dominion to them who\nhonour him.\n\nBar Noemi looked contemptuously at the treasures lying at his feet, and\nanswered boldly: \"Our God is Jehovah.\"\n\nThe elders and high priests exchanged angry glances, and led him next to\nthe temple of the war god Remphan, which rested on copper columns. The\nidol itself was of dark, molten bronze; at its feet lay heaps and heaps\nof broken weapons and armour, the trophies of battles won by the\nCarthaginians, as well as the prows of those ships which had been\ncaptured in naval victories.\n\n\"Since thou wilt bow down to neither Love nor Riches, at least do\nobeisance to the god in whose gift is Fame, the highest gift known to a\ntrue man.\"\n\nBut Bar Noemi gazed boldly into the hollow eyes of the molten idol, and\ncried defiantly: \"There is but one God--Jehovah, the Almighty.\"\n\nLast of all they brought him into the subterranean temple of Baal, the\ngod of the strong hell, who has dominion over eternal fire, and\ndistributes pains and torments both here and in the nether world. There\nthey showed the stranger the red-hot body of the huge, shapeless idol\nwhich demanded a human victim every day, and they forced him to stay to\nsee the sacrifice. Then they hurled a great, strong man into the idol's\njaws, and the same instant a thick smoke gushed forth from Baal's eyes\nand nostrils, whilst the yells of the dying victim roared forth from the\ncavernous stomach like the laugh of a demon of hell, gradually growing\nfainter and fainter, as when a wild beast has satisfied his hunger, and\nsettles quietly down to digest his food.\n\n\"Bar Noemi,\" cried the elders, \"the gates of death are open before thee.\nSpeak!\"\n\nFull of unshakable faith, the young man raised his eyes towards the\ninvisible bright blue sky, the one thing pure enough to be imagined the\ndwelling-place of the eternal God, and spake unmoved: \"Jehovah alone is\nGod, the Ruler of earth and of the starry heavens, the Lord of life and\ndeath. All else is but dust and ashes.\"\n\nThe idol roared forth the death-agonies of a second victim, while the\nofficiating priests sought to drown the sickening shrieks with the din\nof kettledrums and cymbals. In the midst of this hellish spectacle, Bar\nNoemi folded his hands across his breast and prayed in silence. He had\nquite made up his mind to breathe his last in the belly of the idol.\n\nAgain the elders and high priests whispered together, then, with smiling\ncountenances, they spoke thus to Bar Noemi--\n\n\"Thou hast remained steadfast in thy faith. Cleave thereto henceforward\nalso, and never forswear thyself. Wed thee with thy betrothed after the\nmanner of thy nation, and take her with thee to thy distant dwelling;\nlive as long as thy God wills it.\"\n\nBar Noemi obeyed their words, and secretly blessed Jehovah, who helps\nHis true servants to victory, and strengthens the hearts of those who\npraise His Name. So he was married in the sight of all the people to the\nbeautiful Byssenia, gave to the father of the bride the marriage gift he\nhad brought with him in exchange for her, himself taking charge of his\nwife's paraphernalia, settled various outstanding matters of business,\nand embarking in his ship with his gallant crew, sailed out of the bay\namid the cheers of the people assembled in the harbour, and the blare of\nthe trumpets and clarions. An escort of four warships accompanied him\ninto the open sea. The decks of the splendid Carthaginian vessels were\nhung with painted carpets, their prows were adorned with far-projecting\ngolden monsters, behind were the movable bridges used in battle to\ngrapple the enemy, amidships the high tower, whence stones and other\nmissiles were wont to be hurled.\n\nWhen the ocean was reached and land was no longer visible anywhere, the\nCarthaginians suddenly let down their bridges upon the bridal ship and\nheld it fast.\n\nThe elders spake yet again to Bar Noemi.\n\n\"Bar Noemi, son of a strange land, below thee is the waste of waters,\nabove thee is the waste of sky, answer now, who is the God that can help\nthee in this wilderness?\"\n\n\"Jehovah!\" answered Bar Noemi.\n\n\"Then Jehovah stand thee by,\" said the elders; whereupon they stripped\nBar Noemi's ship of sails, helm, and every instrument which enables the\nmariner to find or make his way on the ocean. Then they bade the bride\nreturn to her father at Carthage. But, clinging to her husband's breast,\nByssenia said she would liefer remain in the stormy sea, and would not\nforsake in the hour of danger him to whom she had plighted her troth.\n\n\"Then may Jehovah help thee,\" answered the elders; and with that they\nquitted Bar Noemi's vessel, and, drawing back the bridges, left the\nbridal ship there in the open sea, without sails or helm, devoted to the\ntempest, abandoned to the waves.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nDERELICT\n\n\nOn the becalmed ocean lies the forsaken ship, without sails, without\nhelm, drawn to one side by its own weight, not a single black point of\nland, not a single white sail anywhere visible along the vast horizon.\nAnd in the midst of this desolation stands Bar Noemi and his doomed\ncrew. But Bar Noemi has said that even in this desolation dwells the\nLord God, who rules over the heavens and the waters.\n\nAnd behold! as he prays there with outstretched arms, a dove comes\nflying from the west on rapid wing, and alights upon the topmast. Never\nhad man seen such a dove before. Her feathers were of green, merging\nhere and there into pearly grey, the wide-extended tail was\ngold-coloured, and sewn with stars like the tail of a peacock, and her\nneck was striped with glowing purple.\n\nBar Noemi took some rice in the palm of his hand and held it in the air,\nand behold! to every one's astonishment, the wonderful bird flew from\nthe masthead on to the mariner's hand, and began to peck up the grains\nof rice one by one, uttering each time the soft cooing note of the wild\ndove, whereupon she flew back to the masthead, and remained there till\nevening.\n\n\"A miracle!\" cried the ship's company; but Bar Noemi said: \"Ye now see\nthat Jehovah has heard me, for He has sent His messenger from heaven as\na sign that He will deliver us from this present distress. Let us,\nthen, take our mantles, and whatever else can be spared from the ship,\nthe garments of the women, the precious gold stuffs, the Phrygian\nvelvets, and let us sew them together and make us a sail. A west wind is\narising which will drive us upon some coast; there will we refit our\nship and return to Tyre.\"\n\nThe ship's company obeyed and set to work. They made them a large sail\nof bright shreds and patches; they hoisted it up, not without sore\nlabour; and scarcely had the sun sunk down and melted away in his own\nreflection at the extreme margin of the sky, when a light breeze arose\nin the east which at first but lightly curled the waves, but gradually\nmade the whole sea heave and toss. The patched sail bulged out, the ship\nrighted herself, stood firm amidst the waves, and began to glide along\nthe watery mirror, and the ship's company, sinking on their knees,\nstammered: \"Jehovah is our God.\"\n\nAll night long the wind blew in the same direction, and all night long\nBar Noemi scrutinized the stars. The constellations with which he was so\nfamiliar, for he had diligently studied them during his long voyages,\nremained constant at the same height, in an unaltered arch, right above\nhis head, a sign, he knew, that the ship was following a northerly\ncourse.\n\nThree days and three nights the rudderless ship flew with a single sail\nover the surface of the ocean. On the fourth day there appeared very\nfaintly on the distant horizon, like the forehead of some brown marine\nmonster, the ridge of the world-supporting Atlas mountains, the rock of\nthe unconquerable Gebel-al-Tarik, which we degenerate moderns call\nGibraltar. This point was familiar to the mariners. They knew that the\nfortunate inhabitants of the golden apple-gardens of the Hesperides\nwould certainly welcome them with joy, though it would have been more\ndangerous for the seafarers to have gazed into the eyes of the maidens\nof the Atlas mountains than to have listened to the songs of the Sirens\nor to have sailed between the coral-reefs of Scylla the accursed. The\njoys of this outermost African haven had torn more sailors from the\nrowing-benches than even famine or pestilence, the twin destroying\nangels of antiquity.\n\nShouting for joy, Bar Noemi's crew clambered up to the masthead, so as\nto better survey from thence the promised land, which drew nearer to\nthem every moment. Already they began to make out the shadowy coastline;\nalready they could distinguish the fresh green of the woods against the\ndark-blue mountain-side, the narrow strips of cornland, and the scarlet\nbloom of the almond woods on the shore below. Already they perceived the\nsky-blue enamel of the luxuriant sesame flowers in the meadows, and the\ninviting smoke-wreaths arising from the hospitable huts on the\nshore--when, suddenly, a small black cloud arose in the south-east,\nwhich, in a moment, darkened the sun and changed the complexion of the\nocean. The waves took a murky, dark-green tinge, Atlas veiled himself in\ndusky grey, the shores became dark blue, and seemed to draw further and\nfurther away; and, all at once, as if fallen from the skies, the whole\nsurface of the water was covered by those white birds with black wings\nwhose vital element is the tempest, who live by the storm, and only come\nforth from their nooks and crannies as harbingers of evil to the\nmariner, circling round the ship with terrifying screams, as if only\nsent forth to bewail the crew.\n\nBar Noemi ordered the single sail to be furled, kissed first his lovely\nwife, and then his faithful comrades, one after the other, for whom\nthere was no longer any hope of salvation save only in the mighty hand\nof the Lord, and, falling upon his knees, he began to sing the psalm:\n\"In Thee, O Lord, do we put our trust,\" they all following his example.\n\nThe raging of the waves, the howling of the wind, grew ever louder, the\nsong of the suppliants ever fainter; the awful crash of the thunder\nmingled with the concert of Death; the black clouds veiled the sun with\nan impenetrable veil, and only the lightning flashed out at intervals\nlike a spectral torch. At every flash the black outlines of Atlas were\nvisible like the terrible shape of a ghostly nightmare, and on the\nfoaming crests of the lurid wave-mountains swept a tiny nutshell, a\nfrail wooden pellet, the plaything of the storm, wherein some two\nhundred or so of that species of worm which calls itself Lord of the\nUniverse were huddled together into a trembling, whining mass.\n\nThe fury of the storm kept steadily increasing, the sullen day became a\nyet more sullen night. Bar Noemi's crew saw the rocks of the Atlas range\ndrawing nearer every moment, and they cursed Bar Noemi and the God to\nwhom he prayed, without ceasing. Another instant and they will all be\ndashed to pieces.\n\nThen the lightning flashes ceased, and long hours of gloom succeeded.\nThe storm tossed the ship about in its mad frolic; the minutes passed in\nmortal anguish, and when, after many hours, a fresh lightning flash\nlights up the whole horizon, the astonished mariners no longer see the\nAtlas mountains. They have been driven far out into the Atlantic ocean.\n\n\"Jehovah is our God alone.\"\n\nThe Lord has saved His faithful ones from a terrible death, yet He has\ncast them upon the immeasurable deep, and abandoned them to fresh\ndangers.\n\nThe night passed away, but the sky was still covered with wild, hurrying\nclouds which seemed to be fighting among themselves so that their blood\nflowed down in streams. And nowhere was the sun to be seen, and the\nhorizon had vanished in drifting clouds and floating vapours--and so\nthey fared for four days. The tempest is never weary.\n\nThe ship was already a wreck, the masts were broken to pieces, the\nglistening dragons on the prow, which had made such a brave show a few\ndays before, had been swept away by the waves; everything superfluous\nhad already been cast overboard, and yet it was as much as they could do\nto keep the ship from sinking.\n\nAs now the fourth day was already closing in storm and stress, the\neldest of the mariners stepped up to Bar Noemi, took him aside, and\nsaid--\n\n\"Dost thou not pray to Jehovah every day, Bar Noemi?\"\n\n\"Every hour and with all my might!\"\n\n\"In the stern of thy ship stands the Ark of thy Covenant before which\nthou dost kneel constantly. What does it contain? Jehovah dwells\ntherein, does He not?\"\n\n\"It contains the Commandments of the Lord engraved on stone, after the\npattern of the tables of Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"Then thou prayest to Jehovah? It is well! But dost thou not know that\nat the self-same time thy crew in the hold of the ship bewail Thammus,\nkneeling beside the golden serpent which they have concealed there.\nThus, either two Divinities, one of whom would save, the other destroy\nus, are striving above our heads for the mastery while we perish; or,\nthere is but one God, even Jehovah, as thou sayest, who prolongs our\ndays indeed out of compassion for thee--but who, in His wrath at the\nwickedness of these men, will not deliver us from the storm. Look now,\nthis do! When, at night, the sound of wailing reaches thee through the\ndeck, know that they are worshipping their idol, and either throw the\nArk of the Covenant or the golden serpent into the sea, that at least\none God may befriend us.\"\n\nAt these words Bar Noemi was very wrath, and did as the old mariner had\ncounselled. For when at night time he heard the mysterious wailing below\nthe deck, he went quickly down into the hold and there found his sailors\non their knees, smiting their breasts and cutting their naked limbs with\nsharp knives, and in the midst stood a golden serpent, wound round a\ncolumn, whose large eyes, made of carbuncle stones, gleamed brightly\nthrough the gloom.\n\nBar Noemi approached the idol and dashed his sword against its head,\nwhereupon it broke into a thousand splinters which scattered in all\ndirections.\n\n\"Behold now!\" cried Bar Noemi, \"how that magian lied who told you that\nthis was a god, and how that goldsmith lied who said it was of gold! It\nwas only so much gilded glass. He who wrought the thing was right in\nsupposing that if you could take it for a god, it might also pass for\ngold!\"\n\nThe astonished mariners felt deeply ashamed at these words. The material\nfraud was the strongest proof in their eyes of their spiritual\naberration also. They kissed the hem of Bar Noemi's mantle, and\ncollecting the splinters of the shattered idol, flung them into the sea.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE RAFT AND THE GREEN DOVE\n\n\nNo sooner had the idol collapsed, than like a whimpering child lulled to\nsleep, the tempest suddenly abated. The howling of the wind died away;\nthe lightning flashed no longer; the black masses of cloud dispersed in\nall directions; the agitated waves, after rocking the ship to and fro\nfor a time, grew smoother and smoother, till at last a perfect calm\nreigned upon the waters.\n\n\"A miracle! a miracle!\" cried the astonished crew; but as in the still\nnight watches they raised their eyes to the cloudless sky, a fresh\nastonishment fell upon them. This starry heaven was not the heaven they\nwere accustomed to. Those were other constellations. The seven stars of\nthe Great Bear were no longer to be seen; the bright and constant polar\nstar was no longer in its place; the mariner's guide, that double eye of\nheaven and all the other constellations of the Northern firmament,\nwhich the sailor regards in so poetic a light, whose going and coming he\nknows so well and whose position tells him in what part of the world he\nis--all these had vanished from the sky, and in their place were other\nstars, still more brilliant than they, which no man was able to call to\nmind. One of these stars shone with so intense a radiance that it cast\nshadows on the deck.\n\nAmazed and anxious, the bewildered crew looked up into the unknown\nheaven which thus disturbed all their calculations, and turning to Bar\nNoemi, inquired timidly--\n\n\"Sir! where are we?\"\n\nBar Noemi himself, not without secret horror, examined these stars of\nanother world, and answered with a sigh--\n\n\"We are in God's hand!\"\n\n\"We are beyond the limits of the world!\" cried a despairing voice; \"we\nare gliding into Nothingness!\" Another maintained that they were\napproaching the land of the great Rok-rok, the home of serpents and\namphibians, where beasts hunt men as men hunt beasts elsewhere. A third\ntold of the Magnet-mountain of the Indians, which drew ships to\ndestruction from afar, and all were terrified at finding themselves in a\nposition so queer that not even a single legend had anticipated it.\n\nFor a while the crew whispered among themselves, then the boldest of\nthem stepped defiantly up to Bar Noemi, and said--\n\n\"Listen to our words, Bar Noemi! All thy continuous praying to Jehovah\nhas only brought trouble upon thyself and those who are with thee. Thou\nmakest us to be tossed of tempests and suffer grievous perils; thou hast\nshattered the God Thammus; thou dost nought but praise and glorify\nJehovah, and now we are in the midst of a strange sea. How we got hither\nwe know not nor how we shall escape from thence; and what is the cause\nof all this but thou and the Ark of thy Covenant and the name of Jehovah\nthat thou prayest to? So long as Thammus was with us, the storm howled,\nbut since thou didst break him to pieces a calm more terrible than a\nstorm has come upon us. Till then we at least moved along, but now we\nare fast bound to one spot as if with double anchors. The crew,\ntherefore, will now abandon thee and the Ark of the Covenant to the\nocean. Depart from us whithersoever thou camest. We are not angry with\nthee, but we fear thee. We will make thee a raft of planks; we will give\nit a rudder and steering gear; we will share our sail with thee, and\ngive thee bread and water for six days. Be content, therefore, and in\nJehovah's name depart, and we too will go whithersoever the good or evil\nhumour of our devils may lead us.\"\n\nBar Noemi answered nothing. This people was hurrying to its doom. For\nthe third time it denied its faith. The sea will surely swallow them up\nas the earth did Dathan and Abiram. When the sins of Sodom exhausted the\npatience of the Lord, He withdrew the one righteous man from the\nabandoned city. Even now the angels of the Lord are many.\n\nWhen Byssenia, who had hitherto shared all the sufferings of the crew\nwithout a murmur, saw how they were making ready a raft for Bar Noemi,\nshe embraced her sorrowing husband, and said, in an encouraging\nwhisper--\n\n\"Be at ease, Bar Noemi. Here is not the limit of the world. The men of\nCarthage possess a secret which may not be named there, and yet is\nhanded down from father to son and thus never forgotten. Tossed by\nstorms, the courageous Hanno wandered once upon a time into these\nregions. His whole course is recorded on huge stone tables which are\njealously preserved in the temple of the God of Death. For whoever\nbetrays this secret is a dead man. I learnt it from my father, who is\none of the guardians of this temple, and sits in the great council of\nmerchants. In the quarter where that dazzling star goes to rest, there\nis a new continent much larger and more beautiful than ours. We shall\nfind it if we follow the course of the star. Two mighty geniuses are\nwith us and will help us: Jehovah is with thee and Love with me!\"\n\nBar Noemi kissed and embraced her whom God had sent as His angel to save\nhim in his extremity, and with that he himself helped his crew to make\nready the frail bark on which, with God's covenant of peace and the love\nof his wife, he was to be committed to the ocean.\n\nThe raft was now ready. A single upright plank formed its mast, a piece\nof brocaded cloth, once the mantle of the bride, was fastened thereto by\nway of sail. A leather skin of water, a basket of coarse wheat cakes\nwhich the Carthaginians used for bread (and these much damaged by\nsea-water), were all the victuals which Bar Noemi received from his\ncrew, and of all his countless treasures, he took with him but three:\nthe Ark of the Covenant of his God; his beloved, the faithful Byssenia;\nand his good and trusty sword.\n\nAs Bar Noemi went on board the raft, the crew shouted after him:\n\"Jehovah be with thee!\" He gazed back sadly upon the forsaken ship from\nwhich the one righteous man had thus been driven, and as he withdrew\nfurther and further from it, and as the wilderness of water between them\nbecame greater and greater, and he still stood and gazed sorrowfully\nback upon his ship, lo! she suddenly began to settle down sideways,\nthen, slowly turning round and round for some minutes, finally sank\nbefore his eyes. The breeze carried the last screams of the dying\nsailors to Bar Noemi's ears.\n\nThus he found himself quite alone in the midst of the unknown waters.\n\nBut he did not remain alone long. The flapping of wings resounded on\nhigh, and from the midst of the serene blue sky, descended that same\nwondrous dove which had visited his ship on Africa's coasts, and now\nlighted fearlessly on the top of his little mast.\n\nShe, too, had fled from the storm. Her gold glittering plumage was all\nrumpled and soiled, and she smoothed and composed it with her scarlet\nbill; then fluttering on to Bar Noemi's arm, as if he were an old\nacquaintance, she flew down from thence upon Byssenia's snowy shoulder\nwith a loud cooing, and when they offered her of the wheaten cakes, she\npecked at it but did not eat, and then flew away again with the gentle\ncoo of the wild dove.\n\n\"I'll follow thee, thou heavenly messenger!\" cried Bar Noemi,\ntrustfully; and unfurling his little sail to the wind, he steered the\nraft in the direction taken by the dove.\n\nThe heavenly guide never disappeared from view. When the raft was\nbecalmed, she flew down upon it and rested. At night she always roosted\non the summit of the mast, and in the early morning departed again,\nflying constantly in one and the same direction.\n\nThree days and three nights the dove and the mariner travelled together.\nOn the morning of the fourth day, the dove flew joyously on to\nByssenia's knee, ate heartily of the wheaten cakes, and thereupon flew\nso rapidly away that the eye could scarcely follow her: at last she\nquite disappeared from the horizon.\n\nIn the fourth night the ship sailed along alone, and the beloved, the\nloving wife, laid her head on her husband's bosom, as if she were\nresting on her bridal bed at home, so calmly did she sleep amidst the\nwaste of waters.\n\nBut Bar Noemi could not sleep. There is a feeling in the sailor's\nbreast, the vibration of some hidden chord, one of those myriad secret\nforebodings which the learned may perhaps deny, but can never explain,\nwhich expresses itself in a feverish unrest whenever he is approaching\nthe green headland of his dreams, which he cannot yet see, and yet could\npoint out with his finger and say, \"There it is!\" when all around him is\nnought but commingling sea and sky.--\"There it is! There it must be!\"\n\nThe morning twilight suffuses heaven and ocean with gold and purple,\nand, lo! where the gilded sky touches the water, a lofty rock stands out\nagainst the horizon, its bepurpled summits shimmering through the azure\nmorning mists.\n\n\"The Lord He is God alone!\" exclaims Bar Noemi, and raised thankful\nhands to heaven, while Byssenia sank down before the Ark of the\nCovenant, and covered its silver-studded corners and angles with her\nkisses.\n\nA new world? No! It is an old world already hastening to the end of its\nhistory, just as the history of the known world has begun to take notice\nof it. Ye who have fixed the duration of the Ages, how know ye how many\nprevious millenniums with a whole world of men, beasts, and plants have\nalready vanished hopelessly from your ken? Those skeletons which are\nfound in the beds of rivers, at the bottom of deep clefts; those remains\nof unknown animals never seen by European eyes; those relics of a\nprimeval vegetation which amaze us in the coal layers, and the chalk\nstrata,--speak of an older, perhaps of a better, in any case of a\nmightier, world than ours. And do not those gigantic ruined palaces,\nwith their wondrous architecture which adventurous travellers have\ndiscovered in the land of the Incas, do not they point to a vanished\npeople, the masters of power and glory who, once upon a time, filled\nhalf a world with their struggles and their joys; ruled the land and\nwaxed great, seeming to the inhabitants of that trans-oceanic continent\na race of very demigods, till their sins made them ripe for death, and\nthe luxuriant vegetation of a savage Nature disputed the possession of\nthe soil with the children of men? The calculations of the wise Plato\nabout the \"Fortunate Islands\" may indeed have only been a poetic dream,\nperhaps the mere striving of an inspired philosophical soul to realize\nits own ideals; but so much is certain: the relics which have survived\nthe ravages of centuries, relics which no sea can wear down, which no\nforest can overgrow, no tempest can wash away, testify to the fact that\nin the far distant ages before us, beings have existed who aimed at\nperfection, and only perished when their pride reached its summit, and\nthey fancied in their insane presumption that there was no longer any\nGod above them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE PRIEST OF THE MEGATHERIUM\n\n\nAs far as the eye can reach, the shore is covered with a forest, such as\nonly the most extravagant fancy can picture to itself. Broad shadowy\ntrees, which take root again in the soil with their branches, seem to be\nbuilding huge temples, with living rows of columns, whose roof is the\nthick dark foliage, whose ornaments are the flowers of the ivy-like\ncreepers which climb up the branches, and look down from their heights\nwith a thousand wide-open blue and scarlet shining eyes. The hedges\nconsist of tiny silvery bushes, with rosy red pointed branches, and the\nlofty grasses with their woolly spear-heads shoot up so high, that a\ntall man walking amongst them would not overtop them. Here and there\nabove the arcades of the dark bananas, tower groups of cocoanut palms,\nthose gigantic flowers, with their huge calices of fruit, most noble of\nthe Creator's works, for they only raise their heads the higher for\ntheir heavy burdens, and bear with modesty the crown which He has given\nthem.\n\nOn the top of one of these palms squats a human shape, engaged in\npitching down from thence the nuts, each as big as a child's head; but\nbelow, at the foot of the trees, amongst the luxuriant grasses, lies a\ngigantic megatherium, which in its recumbent position is scarcely\ndistinguishable from a shapeless mass of rock. Its length is fully four\nand twenty feet; in shape it resembles a sloth, and its unshapely back\nrises like a small hillock out of the lofty grasses whilst it thrusts\nits huge head with the tiny eyes and the little round ears into the\nthicket. The whole of the huge body is cased in a brown warty skin,\ntraversed by deep furrows, and covered round the loins by hundreds of\nsmall sea-mussels, the fruits of its evening wallowings in the\nsea-slime; only the beast's nostrils, ears, and the point of its short\ntail are sprinkled with sharp, tough bristles.\n\nThe sea-farer from Tyre had no sooner brought his beloved and the Ark of\nthe Covenant ashore, than he fell with his face to the ground, thanked\nthe Lord for his wondrous deliverance, and reverentially sang a song of\npraise.\n\nAt the sound of this song, the monster, prone in the grass, raised its\nunwieldy head, and opening its frightful jaws, uttered a protracted,\nscreeching roar, which was more like a wail of distress than a note of\ndefiance.\n\nIn his first alarm Bar Noemi grasped his sword, and his heart beat\nquickly as he saw this huge head, with its neck twelve feet long,\nstretched out towards him; but immediately afterwards he let his sword\nglide back into its sheath, and stroking Byssenia's light locks as she\nclung trembling to him, calmly soothed and encouraged her. \"Fear not!\nThe teeth of this monster are blunt and black. He is a plant eater, and\ndoes not attack men. Such like monsters live also in Migraim, in the\ngreat ocean, where they are called 'Behemoth,' though they are not so\nmonstrously big.\"\n\nThe man in the tree had, in the mean time, perceived the strangers, and\nafter throwing a few more cocoanuts into the jaws of the monster below,\nhe clambered down from the tree.\n\nThe megatherium grew calmer; its jaws sank to the ground again, and it\ncrunched the hard nuts with its teeth as if they had been grains of\ncorn.\n\nThe man threw a few more nuts into its jaws, which attention the monster\naccepted with the same stupid helplessness with which fledglings, a day\nor two old, allow their dam to feed them, uttering at the same time a\ngrunt of lazy satisfaction.\n\nAnd now the man approached Bar Noemi.\n\nHe was a wretched-looking object. His head and cheeks were quite\nhairless; his wrinkled face was of a sickly grey tinge; his limbs seemed\nto be wasting away; his back was crooked; his knee was bent outwards,\nhis chest inwards. Although it was a hot summer day, he seemed to be\nfreezing, despite the thick fur mantle in which he was closely wrapped.\n\nBar Noemi's astonishment increased when he was addressed by this strange\nshape, in that out-of-the-way corner of the world, in a corrupt but\nperfectly intelligible Carthaginian dialect.\n\n\"Thou hast come from Carthage, eh?\"\n\n\"Yes, we come from Carthage,\" repeated Bar Noemi, \"and have suffered\nshipwreck. But who art thou, and how is it that thou dost address us in\nour own language?\"\n\nThe man shivered in the warmth of the equinoctial summer, and wrapping\nhimself closer in his woollen mantle, which was interwoven with gold and\nsilver flowers, he came still closer. It was evidently a labour for him\nto speak to them from a distance, for his voice was not strong enough to\ndo so without very great exertion.\n\n\"If you come from Carthage, you must have heard of Hanno's tables, for\nthough it is forbidden to as much as mention them there under pain of\ndeath, they must be known to every Carthaginian, for thousands have\nalready come from Africa's coasts to the Fortunate Islands as Hanno\ncalled this continent.\"\n\n\"Then we are on the Fortunate Islands?\" cried Bar Noemi, who had often\nheard the legend from the lips of his sailors.\n\n\"This is no island, but a continent ten times as large as the continent\nbeyond the seas. Those who dwell on one side of it do not even know the\nnames of those who dwell on the other. The boldest travellers do not yet\nknow the boundaries of this continent, and whatsoever direction they\ntake they always come upon new lands, new mountains, and new peoples, a\nhundred-fold more numerous than those of Rome and Greece put together,\nas described by them who come from thence. The Fortunate Islands have no\nlimit, they are infinity itself.\"\n\n\"And does the land really deserve to be called fortunate?\"\n\n\"Throw thyself to the ground and kiss it. This land is the Paradise\nwhere everything for which men toil and labour elsewhere, grows of its\nown accord. One tree bears wool whiter than the wool of sheep; in the\nflowers of another tree you will find sweet honey; a third gives milk\nand butter which is fatter than the milk of cows; and yon branches which\nnod their heads towards thee supply in abundance wine and bread and\nluscious fruits. And then, too, each one of our natural juices has its\nown peculiar intoxicating joy. The sleep-compelling juice of the Areka\ntransports thee into very Paradise; drink thyself drunken with the sweet\njuice of the Batata, and the love of a thousand women at once will burn\nin thy breast; drink deeply of the burnt beans of the coffee plant, and\nthou wilt feel two souls within thee instead of one; whilst all the\nother joys of life are as nothing compared with the ecstatic vibrations\nwhich thrill through every nerve when thou dost taste of the fermented\njuice of the sugar-cane. Ah! stranger, here are a thousand different\nkinds of bliss which other lands wot not of. Shame it is that one cannot\nlive longer. Shame that life vanishes like a dream. I myself am not far\nfrom my dotage, for thirty summers have already passed over my head!\"\n\nBar Noemi felt very dejected. Thirty years in this place actually mean\nold age! And certainly this man resembled a dotard of seventy; he was a\nbent and broken-down old man with nothing of the dignity of age about\nhim. His own words seemed to have deeply afflicted him, and despite the\ngreat heat, he was shivering. By his side hung a round ivory vessel the\ngold stopper of which he unscrewed, and taking a good pull at it, handed\nthe bottle to Bar Noemi.\n\nBut the young man would none of it. \"I drink of the running stream,\"\nsaid he.\n\nThe native of the Fortunate Islands laughed. The liquor he had just\ntaken instantly flew to his cheeks and forehead, bringing out large red\npatches which grew redder every moment. His eyes sparkled with that\noffensive glare which betokens madness. With an embarrassed leer he\nturned towards Byssenia, and regardless of her husband's presence, thus\naddressed her: \"Pretty lady! do not stay with that moody water-drinker!\nCome with me, and I'll steep thee in delights. I am a beauteous, ardent\nyouth; my lips are honey, my heart a flaming fire. Forsake this beggar,\nand come to me, for I am a rich man. I'll give thee a gold ring for\nevery one of thy golden hairs, and for thy glistening eyes thou shalt\nhave two gleaming carbuncle stones. I'll bring thee into my palace whose\ntop is lost in the clouds, whose lofty golden cupola compels the very\nsun to change his course. Have no fear of this husband of thine. I am a\nstrong, invincible hero! With a single wave of my hand I can dash him to\nthe ground\"--and for all these brave words, the wretched creature could\nscarce keep his feet, and his hands trembled like aspens.\n\nBar Noemi stepped back with a shudder, at the same time throwing his\narms round his beloved, who, full of disgust, concealed her face from\nthe repulsive figure before her.\n\nAgain the megatherium raised his head and uttered a roar. He was\nhungry.\n\nThis roar brought the islander back to his senses. He quickly shut up\nhis drinking-flask and tottered back to the monster, which opened wide\nits jaws while he was still a long way off, showed its large black\nfangs, and patiently awaited the great cocoanuts which the man,\ncollecting from the earth, hurled into its jaws.\n\nByssenia would have fled from the uncanny sight, but Bar Noemi\nencouraged her to await the end of the scene. \"The fellow is disgusting\nwhen drunk,\" said he, \"but there is no cause for alarm; perhaps he will\nlisten to reason when he is sober.\"\n\nThe exertion of feeding the monster gradually drove the fumes of the\nliquor out of the man's head. After a while, the megatherium stretched\nitself in the grass and went to sleep, whereupon the man, now sober,\ncame back, showing the same pale and trembling countenance as before--in\nfact, his labour had so exhausted him that he was almost in a state of\ncollapse, and in a faint voice he begged Bar Noemi to lend him his arm\nand help him on his way to the city where he would entertain them as his\nguests. Only with great repugnance did Bar Noemi take the arm of the\nyoung old man, but, at the same time, he could not forbear from asking\nthe question: \"What hideous beast is that which thou art at so much\npains to feed?\"\n\nThe old young man looked at him with consternation.\n\n\"Oh, stranger, guard thy lips, and speak not so, for that which thou\ncallest a beast is a god!\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Bar Noemi, wrathfully, \"that bellowing monster, with\ndivided hoofs, blotched and cracked hide and loathsome body, a god!\"\n\n\"Yea, in very truth,\" answered the man, in a tone of awe and reverence.\n\"Every city here has a living god whom all the people serve in turn--I\nto-day, another to-morrow. Each one of them has as many priests as there\nare days in the year. When our fathers came hither, centuries ago, these\nsuperhuman beings ruled the whole land and their favour could only be\nwon by sacrifice, submission, and prayer. Since then, all the\nfirst-fruits of the land have belonged to them, the best of the bread,\nof the fruit, nay, even the first-born of man and beast are offered to\nthem, for they are the Lords over this land who never die.\"\n\nBar Noemi sighed.\n\n\"Would that I were in a rudderless ship on a stormy sea rather than on\nthis accursed rock.\"\n\nThereupon he reverentially raised the Ark of the Covenant on to his\nhead, seized Byssenia's arm with his right hand and the hilt of his\nsword with his left, and when the old young man asked him what was\ninside the case which he carried on his shoulders with so much care, he\nanswered--\n\n\"It contains a treasure, the like of which is not to be found in the\nwhole empire of the Fortunate Islands. This is the only treasure in the\nwhole land.\"\n\nAnd as he went, his thoughts ran on. \"And she whom my right hand holds\nis the only true woman, and the sword in my left hand is the only true\nweapon in the whole of the Fortunate Islands, for my heart tells me that\nthere is not a single man beneath this sun.\"\n\nAnd the old young man led them towards the city.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE CITY OF DELIGHT\n\n\nBehold the huge city which stretches out before you.\n\nNeither ancient Rome nor modern London, nor yet the capital of the\nCelestial Empire, not even Babylon, far famed of old, not one of the\ncongeries of houses of the known world, is to be compared with this\ncity.\n\nView it even from the top of this high hill, and you cannot take in half\nof it. Formerly it was bounded by two great rivers, but now these also\nare covered with houses, and have their course assigned to them out of\nsight, beneath the town.\n\nA fantastic, extravagant architecture, all glitter and luxuriance, the\ncreation of a wild fancy, forms a striking contrast to the simplicity of\nthe classic and the sublimity of the Gothic style.\n\nThe gates of the city consist of strange pyramidal structures formed of\ngigantic layers of cubes, one above the other, the spaces between each\ncube being wide enough to admit the passage of two heavily laden waggons\nabreast. The lowermost layer consists of eleven cubes, the next layer of\nten, and so on, regularly diminishing by one up to the eleventh,\ntopmost, solitary cube towering high into the air, and surmounted by the\nimage of the unshapely Megatherium, the tutelary deity of the city. Each\nof these dazzling cubic stones shows a bas relief representing a human\nfigure with a crown on its head, and a sceptre in its hand, whilst\nwondrous hieroglyphics below record the six-and-sixty names of the\nancient rulers of the city.\n\nThe first thing which strikes the stranger as he enters the city is the\nintoxicating, voluptuous perfume which seems to form part of the\natmosphere, the exhalation whereof, like a golden mist, extends all over\nthe place, enveloping the towers and roofs of the loftiest palaces in a\nromantic chiarooscuro. 'Tis the odour of ambergris and musk, and other\nperfumes, now unknown, which the owners of these palaces have mingled\nwith the mortar of their walls so that the whole town may be bathed in\nan eternal sea of fragrance. Every street spreads abroad its own\npeculiar, pleasant odour.\n\nViewed from afar, all these palaces seem like so many houses of cards.\nOne row of columns rises above another, and each row is encircled by\nwondrous gossamer trellis-work, so that they look for all the world like\naerial, unsubstantial balconies. The lowest row of columns consists of\nglittering, polished metal (mostly copper), the next rows of jasper or\nalabaster, and the uppermost of transparent, prismatically fashioned\nglass, the facets of which catch the morning and evening rays of the\ntropical sun, and scatter fantastic rainbows on every side of them.\n\nNone of the houses have external windows, as with us, so that it is\nimpossible to peep inside them. The whole fa\u00e7ade is covered with\nwonderful statuary--on whose extraordinary groups the eye would\nwillingly linger, if fresh wonders did not every moment divert its\nattention at every step.\n\nThe streets are spanned by arched bridges, which unite the roofs of the\nopposite houses, so that the city can not only be traversed lengthways\nby the streets, but crossways also by the roofs and bridges above--the\nlatter, in fact, being the night, as the former is the day route. No\nsooner has the sinking of the star of day wrapped the streets in\ndarkness than the bridges become animated and populous. Laughing and\nsinging, the noisy groups crowd the bronze bridges and the gardened\nhouse-tops. Every house is now open to all, and reveals its sweet\nmysteries; every roof is bright with the glare of torches, and the\nhalf-naked bands, flitting to and fro, revel tumultuously on high.\n\nIf any one were to stand in the street below at such times he would hear\nnothing but an indescribable, terrifying hubbub, occasioned by the\nmysterious orgies above his head.\n\nIn many places huge cupolas spring up amongst and above the palaces,\nlike gigantic eggs rising out of the ground. Wondrous, indeed, the\nimagination which could devise such structures. The whole building seems\nto be of a piece, yet it consists of millions of stones deftly joined\ntogether with a single large lateral opening.\n\nIn the midst of the city rises a temple of colossal proportions, the\neight sides of which are covered with silver plates polished to a\nblinding brightness. In this gigantic mirror one sees reflected the\nwondrous image of the far-extending city, and the repercussion of the\nsunbeams therefrom fills the remotest corners of the city with a\ndazzling refulgence. On the summit of the temple is a huge idol of\nmassive silver. The head is round, like a man's, and its hands and feet\nhave each five digits; but the long, squirrel-like tail behind seems to\ndeny its human origin. Diamonds as large as eggs supply the place of\neyes. This is the giant Triton, the supremest idol of that ancient\ncontinent, exalted above all the other monsters whom men adore--a\nmillennial monster whose living original sits within the walls of that\ntemple, and utters a roar when it is hungry, and then the whole\ncity--the whole land--trembles before its wrath. It asks but one meal a\nyear, but then it must have a man and a woman to bury in its maw. After\nthat it is dumb again for another year, and sits in the midst of its\ntemple on a golden throne with its five-fingered hand resting on its\nknees, and its immovable eyes blankly staring before it, just like its\nsilver effigy on the roof up yonder.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE TETZKATLEPOKA\n\n\nIn the broad streets a mass of men and women are surging to and fro.\nWhat festival is being held to-day in Triton's city?\n\nThe windows of the palaces are adorned with living flowers, wonderful\nzoophytes, which belong partly to the rapacious, locomotive world, and\npartly to the world that is rooted to the soil; huge green snakes,\nwinding up the slender columns and terminating in marvellously beautiful\ntulip-like calices; but in the midst of each calix lurks a poisonous\nsting, and the leaves, as they shrink together, greedily devour the bird\nof paradise that has ventured into the calix while the tail of the\nfloral beast is rooted in the living earth. The balconies are adorned\nwith deep-sea vegetation, which the perverse ingenuity of man has\nacclimatized to the tropical air. Between the bright ridges of the coral\nthe interlacing suckers of the tumid polypus grope their way, presenting\nan eternally shifting maze of shapes and colours, whilst through the\nthick, branching arms of the transparent mollusc the pulsation of its\nvital juices is distinctly visible. The flowers of the field no longer\ncharm the senses of men; the blunted, unreceptive soul can only be\nexcited by the wondrous, the extraordinary, in Nature.\n\nThe main street, from the gate to the Temple of Triton, is covered by a\ncarpet--a carpet woven entirely out of the locks of young damsels.\nEbony-coloured hair forms the groundwork of the pattern, and the figures\nof wreaths, palaces, sacrifices, and all manner of groups are worked\ninto it with tresses of every shade of colour from the blondest blonde\nto the deepest chestnut. No reigning prince of this world has ever\npossessed a more costly carpet. Every year the girls cut off their\nlocks; every year the carpet grows longer and longer, and, although the\ncity itself increases every year, the carpet keeps pace with it, and\nreaches from gate to gate.\n\nOver this gossamer net-work, more precious than gold, the festal host\nsweeps like a flowing stream.\n\nMore than 20,000 children--boys and girls--lead the way to the gorgeous\ntemple, singing merry songs, and as they sing they dance with quivering\nlimbs--a dance which flushes their cheeks with a feverish glow, and\nfires their eyes with an ardour which has nothing childish in it. On the\nmorn of the feast of Triton an intoxicating potion was given to these\nchildren, which has robbed them of all modesty, and, writhing hideously,\nthey dance and sing in honour of the god.\n\nAfter them come 20,000 women, their bodies covered with dazzling stuffs\nand gorgeous plumage; women with painted cheeks, gilded eyelids and\neyebrows, and with dishevelled tresses rolling down their shoulders in\nhundreds of ringlets entwined with gold wire. There is not a spot on\ntheir bodies which reveals God's creating hand. Human madness has\ncovered, painted, and gilded everything. Only their sparkling eyes show\nthat they are human; only their languishing glances tell that they are\nwomen.\n\nThe women are followed by three hundred and sixty-five old men, the\npriests of the god, with lofty, gold-embroidered, peaked caps, and long\ntrailing mantles, each holding in his hand a staff covered with silver\nbells. These grave old men with the high caps and the long robes dance\nwith insane gestures round a golden car resting on six wheels. Each\nwheel bears the image of the sun, and six pillars, surmounted by a\ngolden drapery, form a sort of baldachin over the car.\n\nIn the midst of this lofty State chariot lies a human form, a pale\nghost, a living corpse, whose eyes are as dull and turbid as slimy\nsea-water; the skin of whose face is earth-coloured and cleaves to the\nbones, whilst his whole bearing speaks of utter weariness, semi-idiocy,\nand disgust of life. His limbs are quite motionless; but, if you look\nclosely, you will see that now and then his lips slightly quiver.\n\nThis shape is the Tetzkatlepoka.\n\nThe chronicles of the Incas, whom the wise Spaniards, in league with the\nredskins, destroyed root and branch, had also something to say about the\nfestivities of Tetzkatlepoka. Tetzkatlepoka was the name they gave to a\nsubordinate, annually elected deity, who presided over their ghastly\nmysteries. The proudest and comeliest man that could be found was\nannually selected and brought into Triton's city. In the midst of the\ngreat market-place, the loveliest maidens of the city surrounded him\nwith unpainted cheeks, freely flowing tresses, and elfin garments spun\nout of glass-thread, and thus they spoke to the elect of the people--\n\n\"This year thou art the god Tetzkatlepoka, the lord of all beauty, the\ndemi-god of bliss, the prince of women. Every flower blooms for thee,\nevery lip kisses thee. Wilt thou be the god Tetzkatlepoka? Wilt thou\nconsume away, expire, and vanish in the midst of joy?\"\n\nAnd if the eyes of the elect god kindled at the sight of these\nsense-bewitching beauties; if the blood flew seething up into his\ntemples; if he answered \"Yes!\" then he was anointed with balsamic\nspices, swathed in robes of pearly silk, and carried to the Temple of\nTetzkatlepoka, and there he lived night and day in the sweet delirium of\nbliss and intoxication. The maidens of the city with their long flowing\nhair visit him one after the other, and when they quit him their locks\nare cut off, and from these locks the carpet, which reaches from one end\nof the town to the other, is made. This intoxication, this delirium of\njoy, lasts a whole year. And on the last day of the year he, together\nwith the last maiden, whom he himself selects, is offered to the giant\nTriton. The living idol consumes them both, and then a new Tetzkatlepoka\nis chosen.\n\nOnce in ten times, perhaps, the selected man resists the enchanting\nspectacle, the most irresistible of all enchantments (or is there\nanything more bewitching than a woman's charms?), and answers the\ninvitation with a \"No!\"\n\nThen they tear the golden garments from his body, and say to him: \"Naked\nthou camest into this blissful world, naked shalt thou depart into a\nworld of woe. Behold yonder those snow-covered mountains. There dwell\nthose twin voiceless beings: Wilderness and Nothingness. Go thither,\nthither where neither man nor beast can thrive for horror and distress.\nLive there in cold, wretchedness, and solitude, and if any love thee let\nthem follow thee.\" And with that, amidst the scorn and derision of the\ndaughters of Triton's city, they cast the perverse wretch out of that\ngate which leads to the snowy mountains, and curse him that he may never\nreturn again. Generally, however, some one human being is found to\naccompany the exile; some one girl, more gentle and modest than the\nrest, who would fain hide with her luxuriant tresses the charms which\nher gossamer garments so ill-conceal, who, laying her hands on the\nshoulders of the vagabond, follows him out of the city of bliss into the\ncold and mysterious world beyond. But love alone, love pure and true, is\ncapable of such acts of renunciation, and such examples of true love\nhappen here only once in ten years. The derided, mud-bespattered lovers\nimmediately vanish into the misty, cloud-wrapped regions of the icy\nmountains, and no human eye ever gloats over their misery, for no human\neye ever sees them more.\n\nThus the festival of Triton is celebrated every year, when the roar of\nthe hungering monster is heard miles away, and the idiot victim of his\nown lusts is placed on the golden triumphal car, and led to his doom\namidst music and dancing.\n\nSuch is the history of the man who sits there on the golden car.\n\nThe procession moves on. After the priests come the maidens of the city,\nwith chapleted brows and fluttering garments, and in their midst, on a\nsilver car, the girl devoted to the idol.\n\nAfter this half-elfin, half-infernal pageant, come the men of the city.\n\nAnd what men! Bent and crippled shapes with tottering knees, crooked\nnecks, nerveless arms, quenched eyes, and soulless faces, tottering\nalong like drunkards; a host of miserable, withered skeletons. If a\nmanlier, statelier shape appear here and there among the decrepit mob,\nit is quite the exception; and the features of all, without exception,\nhandsome or hideous, bear the brand of a curse upon them, a spasmodic\ntwitching of the lips, that unmistakable, unconcealable trait which\nmarks the beast, the demon, and the maniac.\n\nThe most incontrovertible token of the degeneracy of a race is when its\nwomen are very fair and its men very hideous. There ruin already lurks\nin the background.\n\nAnd the rear is brought up by an infernal, sense-bewildering throng of\nmonsters, for which human language has no names. Beasts with human\nheads, and human shapes with repulsive bestial heads; a fearful\nblasphemy of the sacred order of divine nature; terrifying, mongrel\nmonsters, half man, half beast; accursed witnesses of the insane\ndegeneracy of human nature; creatures of whom all antiquity records but\none example--the Minotaur.\n\nIn the Fortunate Islands these abortions form a whole tribe, and those\nwho behold them are no longer shocked or terrified at the sight.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTRITON\n\n\nA single large round window in the cupola above admits the light into\nTriton's temple.\n\nAmidst the statues of grim, phantasmal figures which serve as the\npillars of the roof sits the wonder of the prim\u00e6val world, the creature\nmost resembling man, who existed before man was yet created, the _homo\ndiluvii_.\n\nEven as he sits he measures four-and-twenty feet in height. His feet are\ndisproportionately small, while his enormously long elbows rest upon his\nknees. His whole body is covered with a bluish-green scaly skin, like\nthat of a sea-serpent wrinkled with age. The face resembles a man's. Its\nskin is of a lighter colour than the rest of the body, and is drawn\nquite tight and smooth round the flat, scarcely projecting nose. His\nforehead is round and flat. Two eyeballs, seemingly perched upon fleshy\nstalks, stare out of the vast eye-sockets. They are of a painfully vivid\nscarlet, but cold as stone and surrounded by glittering gold rims such\nas we meet with round the eyes of fishes. The mouth is lipless, and only\nvisible when it is open, but then it stretches on both sides as far as\nthe little round ears, which are covered with a thin film. A splendid\ngold crown, with an upright pointed horn at each corner, adorns his\nhead. Round his loins winds a gold-embroidered cloth, fastened by a\ngirdle set with diamonds, and beneath the cloth extends a long,\ncomb-like backbone, terminating in a squirrel's tail.\n\nThus, year after year, the monster sits motionless on his golden chair.\nThe only sign of life he gives is a sluggish twitching of his eyelids,\nand the hunger fit which comes upon him once a year, when he opens his\nmouth and roars till he is satisfied; immediately afterwards becoming\ndumb again, and remaining so for another year, with his hands resting on\nhis knees, and his immovable, goggle eyes blankly staring at the stony\nmarvels of his own temple, impervious to every outward influence.\n\nThe speech of men, the lowing of beasts, the loud-sounding music are\njust as inaudible to him as the amatory whispers of snails, or the\nphilosophic discourses of the tiny ants are, perhaps, to us. He only\nunderstands the voices of the prim\u00e6val beasts which stand on the same\nlevel of creation as himself.\n\nThe torpid monster owes all his power to his voice and his terrific\nshape. He would be incapable of killing even a child that dared to tell\nhim it had no fear of him, and, nevertheless, the whole city trembles\nbefore him; feeds his vassals, the plant-eating mammoths, megatheriums,\nand iguanodons, with the first-fruits of its fields and the monster\nhimself with the blood of its best men and its loveliest damsels; lays\nat his feet the gold of its mines, the pearls of its seas and the spices\nof its heaths, and invokes as lord and god what is nothing but a\nbelated, prim\u00e6val monster, which has survived the centuries allotted to\nit by Nature and abdicated its impotent, vegetating existence in favour\nof another and a later world, whose generations are renewed every half\ncentury, the world of short-lived, swiftly changing, greedily enjoying\nman.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe ghastly feast is at an end. Tetzkatlepoka and his elect are led into\nTriton's temple. The heavy copper doors close behind the three hundred\nand sixty-five priests.\n\nWhat happened within the temple no one ever knew. The roar of the\nmonster lasted for a few minutes, and then all was still again; the\ndoors were re-opened, and the high priest, stepping forth, informed the\nassembled multitude that, at the potent command of Triton, a gold-edged\ncloud had descended from heaven, taken up the god Tetzkatlepoka and his\nchosen bride, and transported them to an eternity as full of\ndeliciousness as the last year of their earthly life had been. Let him\nwho doubted count those who quitted the temple, and he would find there\nwere only three hundred and sixty-five persons, or two less than the\nnumber which had entered in.\n\nIn the temple itself there was no one but the tranquil stony-eyed\nmonster which had now closed its huge mouth and goblin eyes, like one\nwho has eaten his fill and would fain repose.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE CHOICE OF A GOD\n\n\nAnd now for the election of a new god.\n\nA vast amphitheatre-like space accommodates all the inhabitants of the\ncity. There are four tiers of seats, supported by silvered copper\ncolumns, the capital of each column ending in a bird's head, from which\nan intoxicating liquid flows through a silver pipe into a circumambient\nbasin below. The myriad of glistening jets, which descend in spray from\na height of one hundred and twenty feet, give the whole interior space\nan enchanting appearance. The people, as they make their way into the\ngalleries, hold up their heads and imbibe this intoxicating rain with\nabandoned good humour, while the hideous half-human, half-bestial\nmonsters wallow in the basin below and take in the heady draught that\nway. Whoever cannot drink any more holds his head under the downward\ntrickling juice till it soaks him through and through. Not unfrequently,\nthe injurious liquid sets some of these creatures on fire by spontaneous\ncombustion, and, roaring and bellowing, they plunge madly through the\nmob vomiting forth flames of fire.\n\nA da\u00efs in the centre is occupied by children, who have been brought\nhither to be taught to follow a good example and to participate in a\nfestival which cannot even be described without a shudder.\n\nOn the top of a still higher platform, reached by twelve golden steps,\nstand the three hundred and sixty-five priests, whilst on the lowest\nsteps sit the musicians with long silver trumpets and glass flutes,\nwhose sweetly tender notes go to one's very heart and intoxicate the\nsoul. At each of the four corners of the platform burns a fragrant\ncenser--huge basins of chased gold--which envelop the whole concourse in\na stupefying cloud of fragrant vapour.\n\nAt a signal from the high priest the trellis doors of the amphitheatre\nfly open, and just as formerly at ancient Rome the condemned gladiators\nwere led forth to die in the circus, so now two men are introduced, one\nof whom the people must choose as a god, in order that they may\nsacrifice to him for a whole year the most precious of their treasures,\nthe honour of their daughters.\n\nTwo pre-eminently worthy candidates had been found. One had been\ndiscovered by the priest of the megatherium, the other by the priest of\nthe ichthyosaurus, and the people have now to choose betwixt the twain.\n\nBoth men were carried up to the top of the platform wrapped round with\nthick veils. The inferior priests then withdrew; only the two high\npriests remained behind with their _prot\u00e9g\u00e9s_.\n\nThe uproar of the people sinks into a low murmur. With rapt attention\nevery one regards the two veiled figures who stand in the midst of the\nblue clouds of the four censers.\n\nAnd now the priest of the ichthyosaurus advances and draws away the veil\nfrom the figure of the first man.\n\n\"Behold and admire!\"\n\nA terrible shape, seven feet high at the very least, the face rather\nthat of a wild beast than of a man; the strong, stubbly beard, the\nconnected eyebrows, the flat nose, the broad projecting lips and the\nhuge shapeless muscles, which run along the broad shoulders and the\nthick arms, indicate enormous brute strength. The whole shape is\nterrifying. Nevertheless, gorgeous garments make this sinister\napparition a splendid one. His mantle is lined with orient pearls and\nembroidered with gold; the thick bristly hair is held together by a\ngolden helmet, the crest of which sparkles with diamonds and topazes.\nHis left hand holds a broad shield, hanging down from the rims whereof\nare the scalps of the enemies whom he has vanquished in battle, while\nhis right hand rests upon a sword five feet long, the broad blade of\nwhich is covered with symbols of magic potency. This weapon weighs half\na hundredweight.\n\nNo sooner was the man unveiled than a shout of joy burst from the\npeople, a shout which died away in the bestial bellowing of the human\ncaricatures below.\n\nThen the priest of the megatherium approaches the second shape, and\nslowly removing the veil from it exclaims to the people: \"Behold and\nadore!\"\n\nThe shape of the second man is bright with neither gold nor precious\nstones. The stranger wears a simple white robe, which displays his\nstately figure as it really is, without attempting to improve it by\nexotic finery. The only decoration of his bare head are his luxuriant,\ndown-flowing locks, and the sole armament of his loins consists of a\nshort sword, which requires the foe who has anything to say for himself\nto come to very close quarters.\n\nAnd now the priest spoke to the people.\n\n\"Lo! here is a strange man from a distant land beyond the sea, who has\nbeen drawn to our shores by Triton's mighty arm. In his eyes burns a\nfiercer fire, in his veins flows a warmer blood than ours. Before the\nexpression of his visage the face of every man born on our shores quails\nand blanches. I say no more. You have eyes to see. Make your choice.\"\n\nThen the other priest cried: \"Who will have this hero?\"\n\nAt this invitation only a poor couple or so of wreaths fluttered down\nfrom the crowd, wreaths which certain women of vicious taste had taken\nfrom their heads and cast at the feet of the half-savage Hercules below.\n\nBut when the priest of the megatherium cried: \"Who will have this\nstranger for a god?\" there was a veritable tempest of falling wreaths.\nThe women tore the flowers from their hair and bosoms and threw them\nwith shouts of joy towards the stranger, so that the floor of the\namphitheatre resembled a garden in a rain of flowers. \"Him only!\" they\ncried, \"him only, and none other!\"\n\nThe diamond-garnished, gold-embroidered hero of many fights rose in\ndisdainful wrath with his priest, and throwing his glittering sword over\nhis shoulder, descended the steps of the platform and sat down moodily\non its lowest step.\n\nThe stranger remained alone upon the platform with his priest, who\ntwined a fragrant wreath of roses among his locks and cried joyfully--\n\n\"Hail thou god Tetzkatlepoka! hail in the name of the fair dispensers of\nbliss, thou elect of the people! Take thine own, thou king of all\nbeauty, thou prince of women! Take the flowers which bloom for thee, the\nlips which smile at thee! Hail, thou god Tetzkatlepoka!\"\n\nThe people responded with a loud shout; but, in a dark corner of the\namphitheatre, sat a trembling woman, with a sorrowful countenance,\nholding in her hands the Ark of the Covenant of the one true God, and\ngroaning and sighing, she cried in the bitterness of her heart--\n\n\"Oh, Bar Noemi! Bar Noemi!\"\n\nBar Noemi did not hear the feeble sound. The music of the glass flutes,\nthe soft harmony of the silver trumpets, mingled in his bosom with the\nchoruses of the children into an enchanting, intoxicating harmony, which\nByssenia's voice failed to penetrate. Seductive, sylph-like forms danced\nbefore him in fluttering garments. Their dishevelled tresses waved\nwildly in the air. Their flashing eyes shone brighter than the sun. Who\nwould not have lost his reason at the sight of so much beauty, so much\nbliss?\n\nAnd again the plaintive, sobbing sound was heard--\n\n\"Oh, Bar Noemi! Bar Noemi!\"\n\nAnd the young man seemed to feel a light shudder run through all his\nlimbs. What was that?\n\nHast thou eyes? Hast thou a heart? Where are thy senses that thou\nshouldst hesitate a moment? If a hundred years were thine allotted span\nwouldst thou not give them all away for such glances, and forfeit thy\nvery soul's salvation in the next world for the possession of such an\nearthly paradise? Thousands and thousands of fairy forms dance round him\nin a bewitching, ensnaring circle, ever nearer, ever more lovely and\nmore numerous; their breath fans his cheeks; their eyes burn into his\nvery soul, their melodies take possession of his heart. It needs but one\nword from his lips, and he will sink into this sea of sweetness, die the\nmost delicious of deaths, a death which is nought but a long, long kiss.\n\nThe music, the singing, grows more and more enchanting; the odours of\nthe censers fill the air with a sweet intoxication; the snow-white arms\nalready touch the shoulders of the deified man, when again, for the\nthird time, and still more mournfully, still more appealingly resound\nthe words--\n\n\"Oh, Bar Noemi! Bar Noemi!\"\n\nSuddenly he starts like one just awakened from sleep, a wondrously deep\nsleep which has benumbed all his limbs. He makes a snatch at his head,\ntears off the chaplet of roses, and, rending it in twain, throws it to\nthe ground, exclaiming, with a threatening voice--\n\n\"I am no god! Jehovah is God alone!\"\n\nInstantly the music, the singing is dumb as when the strings of a lyre\nare cut asunder by the stroke of a sword. The enchantment is broken; the\nfeatures of the seductive sylphs are distorted into the faces of Furies;\nthe sweet harmony vanishes in a deafening uproar; curses, gibes, mocking\nlaughter and the howling and bellowing of the men-beasts fill the vast\narena.\n\nBut though the earth tremble beneath the hideous hubbub, Bar Noemi's\nheart trembles not. He has found the name which gave him strength in the\nmidst of the raging elements, and drawing his sword, he stands in the\nmidst of the furious mob, like a god, or rather like a true man amongst\nmen who have lost every spark of manhood.\n\nAnd as they rush upon him, he speaks fearlessly to the people, speaks in\na voice which rises above their screams and curses--\n\n\"Ye inhabitants of the City of Triton! Ye coward worshippers of idols!\nYe living, painted coffins abandoned by your own souls even while still\nin the flesh, listen to my words! My name is Bar Noemi. My strength is\nthe one true God, whose countenance no human eye has ever gazed upon.\nI'll show my courage by my good sword, which no one has ever yet\ndespised. And I tell you, ye who make a mock of God and His noble image,\nman, that I despise you all, and that there is not a youth nor an old\nman within your walls before whom I tremble!\"\n\nShame and wrath made white the features of all who heard him. Everywhere\nelse, red is the colour of shame and wrath, but here, in Triton's City,\nit was white. For Bar Noemi had spoken the truth, in the whole of that\ngreat city, in the city of delight, not a man was to be found who dared\nto raise his hand against the stranger! And there he stood on the da\u00efs,\nwith a terrible countenance, and his naked sword in his hand, like an\navenging angel who had come not to fight with men, but to chastise them.\n\nThe warrior with the long broadsword, the herculean frame, and the\nhelmet set with diamonds, was sitting all this while on the lowermost\nstep of the da\u00efs, and did not once turn his head towards his rival.\n\nThe priests and elders, filled with despair, rushed towards him and\nurged him to arise and wipe away the insult thus offered to a whole\npeople. But the man moved not. The paralyzing, voluptuous draught he had\njust partaken of still held captive both soul and body. The wise\npleasure-mongers of Triton's city had introduced this overpowering\npotion into their mysteries to their own confusion, for it unnerves a\nman, enfeebles his heart, divests him of his manhood, and pours into his\nheart a sickly craving after pleasure so that Hercules himself becomes\nthe willing slave of the bright petticoat and the whirring spindle.\n\nAt last they brought him another drink which they were wont to give to\nthose who went forth to battle. It was a strong, stimulating cordial,\nprepared from the froth of wild beasts and the fruits of poisonous\ntrees, filling the heart with an inextinguishable thirst for blood. The\nfiery drops of this battle potion stung the warrior's nerves. He arose\nand stared around him with frenzied, bloodshot, rolling eyes. His\nprotruding lips were covered with a yellow foam and his dusky cheeks\nseemed to be wrapped in burning flames.\n\n\"Who calls?\" he cried, in a voice of thunder, like the roar of a\nravening beast; and, expanding his bulky chest, he swung his ponderous\nsword, like a reed, above his head whilst his eyes flashed green fire\nand his trampling feet crushed the heavy stones into the hard earth.\n\n\"Kill him! the accursed, hideous stranger, the despiser of the people!\"\nresounded from the galleries, and every hand pointed at Bar Noemi as he\nstood on the topmost step of the platform which only a few moments\nbefore they had covered with wreaths.\n\nWith a frenzied howl, the giant swung his sword aloft and shaking his\nshapeless head, rushed, like a bloodthirsty lion up the steps of the\nda\u00efs.\n\n\"Help, Triton!\" roared the mob. Only one soft, almost expiring voice\nbehind one of the columns of the amphitheatre sighed: \"Help, Jehovah!\"\n\nBar Noemi fell back not a single step. Motionless as a molten statue, he\nawaited his antagonist on the top of the platform and avoiding his\nfurious blow, raised his own arm to strike.\n\nThe two weapons clashed together in the air. The huge broadsword of the\ngiant split in two at the hilt, and after describing a wide circle fell\ninto the arena, while the sword in Bar Noemi's right hand did not even\ntake a scratch.\n\nThe whole multitude was instantly dumb with astonishment. In that land\niron was unknown, every weapon was made of copper only, and the thin,\nbluish-shimmering unknown metal had split in two the shining red sword\nat the very first blow.\n\n\"Woe to Triton, woe!\"\n\nThe terrified giant tried to protect himself with the broad silver\nshield, from which the scalps of so many conquered enemies hung down.\nThe descending sword hissed, the uplifted shield groaned, and at the\nsecond stroke the people saw the silver buckler split into two pieces\nfor all its potent magic symbols.\n\n\"Woe to Triton, woe!\"\n\nThe stroke brought the giant to his knees. He could now only shield\nhimself with his huge strong arm; but Bar Noemi, with his left hand,\ngrasped his wrist so that the joints cracked, and dealt him, with his\nright, a last tremendous blow.\n\nThe diamonds and topazes scattered sparks beneath the swift glancing\nsteel which fell upon them like a thunderbolt, and as if struck by\nlightning the corpse of the savage giant rolled down the steps of the\ngolden da\u00efs, his glazed eyes stupidly staring at the horror-stricken\nmultitude. The terrified mob fell with their faces to the ground while\nthe priests rent their clothes and flung themselves at Bar Noemi's feet.\n\nWith meekly bowed head, the priest of the megatherium crawled towards\nhim, and asked with a trembling voice--\n\n\"Thou God from a strange land who dost carry thunderbolts in thy hand,\nwhat dost thou require of us?\"\n\n\"My wife, whom you have taken from me, my Ark of the Covenant wherein\nare the laws of Jehovah, and then I will leave the city.\"\n\nAt these words Byssenia, with tears of joy in her eyes, stepped forth\nfrom behind the pillar which had concealed her, and covered the hands of\nBar Noemi, the strong, the irresistible Bar Noemi, with hot kisses.\n\n\"Oh, how blessed is this woman!\" cried the women of Triton's city, for\nit had never been their blissful lot to be able to say: \"I am the wife\nof one husband.\"\n\nNone dared to molest Bar Noemi with gibes and taunts as he left the\ncity. The escort they gave him did not even venture to raise their eyes\nto his face.\n\n\"He is not a man,\" said the priests, \"but the god of a strange people,\non whom no human hand has any power. A sinister, wrathful, and austere\ndivinity who has no place in Triton's city. Rejoice that he has quitted\nyou for ever!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE PROPHETIC MIRAGE\n\n\nTriton's city had one hundred gates from which paved roads led to every\ncorner of that vast continent; but through one of these gates passed a\nroad which led no whither. This gate looked upon the snowy mountains,\nwhere dwelt the invisible God of Nothingness and Desolation. Thither\nthose only were wont to withdraw who became sick and weary of the\nearthly felicity of the City of Delight. The very threshold of this gate\nwas overgrown with grass, for it was very seldom opened.\n\nBar Noemi cast not a single glance behind him till he had reached the\nmountains. There, where the vegetation of the south came to an end, and\nthe pine succeeded the palm; there, on the top of the nearest pine tree,\nsat the beautiful bird, the dove with golden plumage, which flitted on\nbefore Bar Noemi as he reached the mountains, just as she had done\nbefore on the ocean, guiding the fugitive through the barren wilderness\nof mountain and forest.\n\nThe region of spontaneously growing trees and grasses soon came to an\nend, and now began that inhospitable zone where the earth does not\nwillingly open her bosom, where she is a step-mother to lazy sons,\nhiding her benefits from all but those who labour for them. This is\nsurely the spot whither God brought Adam out of Paradise, _blessed_ him,\nand said: \"Thou shalt eat thy bread in the sweat of thy countenance!\"\nThe wise men of old were in error when they called this a curse, for\nlabour is a blessing, and the sweat-drops on the brow are the noblest\njewels of him who was created after God's own image.\n\nRock succeeded rock. Bar Noemi and Byssenia mounted higher and higher,\nand the exhilaration with which they breathed the invigorating air made\nthem feel as if they were nearer heaven already.\n\nOn the top of an elevated rocky plateau, the dove alighted on the ground\nin front of them, as if it would say: \"Halt here.\" The white and blue\nbells, mingling with the fragrant grass, seemed to be nodding a welcome\nto the new arrivals; the love-song of a little yellow bird resounded\nfrom the green bushes opposite; everything around them seemed so\nstrangely fair and new.\n\nAnd now, for the first time, Bar Noemi threw a glance behind him. The\nabandoned city lay beneath him in a thick, yellow mist, which gave to\nthe whole region a corpse-like hue, a mist not to be driven away by any\nbreeze that blows. On the high roofs of the cities lying in the plain,\nburned sacrificial fires on gigantic altars; fires whose heavy,\ndark-blue smoke could not rise up to Heaven; something seemed to press\nit earthwards where, like a curse-laden cloud, it lodged immovably above\nthe houses, enshrouding the cupolas of the towers and the rigid\nlikenesses of the idols.\n\nFar away on the distant horizon, a delusive mirage performed its\njuggling tricks, by sketching in the sky the outlines of an inverted\ncity. Towers and palaces stand in the dizzy height with their roofs\nturned upside down, and the palms stretched down their crowns from\nabove. The next moment everything had melted away--the plain, right up\nto the very gates of Triton's city, swam in a vast sea, over which the\noverhanging palms and the inverted battlements seemed to throw down\nfar-stretching shadows, whilst the white sails of ships flitted across\nthe space where the city had been. In a few moments the sea also\nvanished; the Fata Morgana withdrew her delusive spells. The land again\nappeared with its woods, meadows, and cities.\n\nBar Noemi and Byssenia gazed with astonishment at this marvel, whose\nwondrous significance only they who could penetrate the secrets of the\ndivine counsels might interpret. Involuntarily they folded their hands\nand prayed together from the very depths of their hearts that the\nAlmighty would turn away His strong, avenging arm from a people who had\nforsaken Him, and not visit them with the furiousness of His heavy\ndispleasure.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE DWELLERS AMONG THE GLACIERS\n\n\nBeyond the mountains quite another world began.\n\nAt the foot of a group of eleven glaciers are populous villages, with\ncultivated fields, and happy, peaceful dwellings. Here dwell those happy\nones who have from time to time withdrawn from the world of bliss\nbelow, and sought the unfrequented mountains where solitude abides. Here\nthey have built their houses, and in the lapse of years have grown into\na people which passes its days in innocence and industry. The only\nradiance and brightness visible there is in their bright and radiant\nfaces; they carry their treasures in their hearts, not on their\ngarments, and to listen to the prattling of their children is their\nhighest felicity.\n\nThese stalwart men and tender women receive the new-comers with joy, and\nemploy their united strength in building them a hut by the side of the\nother huts; give them a little garden; provide them, in the meantime,\nwith the necessaries of life, and lend them a helping hand in their\nfirst labours, and when at last their house is finished, and everything\nset in order; when their heart diffuses its genial warmth, and the oxen\nlow and stamp in their stalls, Bar Noemi and Byssenia are summoned to\nthe elders, who dwell in the midst of the highest mountain and there\njudge and rule the people.\n\nThe grey-headed chief of the little community dwelt in a hut like the\nrest of the people; his wisdom alone distinguished him from his\nsubjects, and although he did not go about in purple, every little child\nknew who he was. To him Bar Noemi related all his wonderful adventures,\nhis marvellous deliverance from the ocean on a sailless, rudderless\nraft, the loathsome spectacles in Triton's corrupted city, and his fight\nwith the godless giant. He also told him of that mysterious sign in the\nheavens which showed him the city turned upside down.\n\nWhilst Bar Noemi was speaking, the head of the aged man sank lower and\nlower, and when he heard of these last scenes, he threw himself with his\nface to the ground and began to weep bitterly. Much disturbed, Bar Noemi\ninquired the cause of his grief. With tearful eyes, the old man replied:\n\"What thou, O youth, hast just told me, convinces me that the time is at\nhand when the Lord will separate the righteous from the wicked, and\njudge this evil world; when millions will vanish from the face of the\nearth, and the earth herself will open her mouth and swallow them up\nbecause she can endure no longer the sins of mankind.\"\n\nAnd the old man bitterly bewailed the doomed continent.\n\nBar Noemi dried the old man's tears and raised him from the ground.\n\n\"Weep not!\" said he, \"the Lord is not a man that His wrath should not be\nappeased. In the history of my people have I read that the Lord had once\npronounced His judgment over a great city which He had doomed to perish.\nAnd He sent His prophet to warn the people to repent them of their sins\nif they would not be utterly destroyed, both they and their city. And\nthe city repented and so turned away the chastisement of the Lord, and\nit was preserved. And again it came to pass that the Lord condemned\neight cities to be consumed by a fiery rain from heaven, and a fiery\ntorrent from out of the earth, which should change them into a lake of\nsulphur. And near to one of these cities dwelt a single righteous man,\nwho carried God in his heart, and the Lord revealed His fearful judgment\nto this man. Then this righteous man threw himself down before God and\nprayed: 'O Lord! wilt thou destroy the righteous with the wicked?'--And\nGod answered and said: 'If I find five righteous men in Sodom, I will\nspare the city.'--Dost thou hear, my father, what God has spoken? He\ndoth ever keep His promise, for His word standeth faster than the stars\nin heaven. And therefore I say to thee, choose me four men out of the\npeople who are righteous in all their ways, men of clean lips, who have\nneither defrauded their neighbour nor lusted after the wife of the\nstranger, nor denied their God in word or deed. Them will I take with me\nto Triton's city, and God, for the sake of five righteous men, will not\nlet a whole city perish.\"\n\nThe old man kissed Bar Noemi, and said: \"Of a truth thou art that\nprophet of the Lord of whom our traditions speak, for it is the Lord who\nhath put these thoughts into thy heart. My own four sons shall go with\nthee. Their souls are as pure as crystal and their hearts know no fear.\nFive men shall save a people.\"\n\nWith that the old man sent for his sons, who, after bathing together\nwith Bar Noemi in pure rain water, knelt down before the old man to\nreceive his blessing.\n\nNow as they were setting off, Byssenia threw her arms round the neck of\nher husband and asked him--\n\n\"Whither goest thou?\"\n\nBar Noemi never lied, yet he did not wish to grieve his wife, so he\nanswered--\n\n\"To Paradise!\"\n\nAnd he spoke the truth, for Triton's city was the Paradise of Bliss.\n\nByssenia walked beside her husband, kissed him once more, and asked\nagain--\n\n\"If thou goest into Paradise, wherefore dost thou not take me with thee?\nSpeak the truth? Whither goest thou?\"\n\nAnd now, too, Bar Noemi did not lie, as he answered his wife the second\ntime--\n\n\"I go to hell!\"\n\nTriton's city was indeed a hell.\n\nBut the woman threw herself weeping on his bosom, and asked a third\ntime--\n\n\"Oh, my husband! Oh, Bar Noemi, whither wouldst thou go?\"\n\nAnd stretching out his hands towards heaven, Bar Noemi answered the\nthird time--\n\n\"I go into the presence of God!\"\n\nAnd, indeed, the road that lay before him led even to God's\njudgment-seat.\n\nWhen they came to that rocky plateau from whence they could survey the\nwhole plain, the wondrous phantom of the Fata Morgana again appeared\nbefore them--the aerial palaces, the hanging gardens, and the toppling\ntowers which, as they dissolved away, left behind them a sea that\ncovered mountain and valley, so that only the distant pinnacles and the\nheads of the idols emerged above the billowy flood.\n\n\"'Tis the finger of God!\" said the old man, with reverential awe, and he\nblessed the five men and bade them be strong that they might wrestle\nwith God for a continent and the people of a continent. And pressing Bar\nNoemi's hand to his lips, he breathed in his palm, and said: \"Blessed be\nhe whom thou blessest and cursed whom thou cursedst!\"\n\nThe five men descended the mountain.\n\nBut the old man led Byssenia back to his hut among his daughters, who\nwelcomed her as a sister, and when he saw that the woman secretly\nbewailed her husband who had exposed himself to such dangers, he\ncomforted her, and said--\n\n\"Fear nothing, for I know that Bar Noemi will return.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE DESTRUCTION OF A CONTINENT\n\n\nThe city shimmered from afar in the evening twilight as the five men\narrived at the gates. All the houses were lit up with bright torches and\ncoloured lamps. The feast of flowers had begun and here it lasted three\ndays. During that time all the streets and housetops were strewn with\nfragrant flowers, the columns were intertwined with garlands gay and\nfestoons of wreaths hung across the market-place from one statue to the\nother.\n\nBut the feast of flowers is also the feast of Love. 'Tis the merry\nspringtime, the blushing rose, the flowery mead that charm the senses\nmost. This was well-known and recognized in Triton's city, and men\nrejoiced when this festival began, the festival of flowers, of roses and\nof the spring.\n\nFive doleful men, with their swords slung over their shoulders and long\nlances in their hands, stride through the flower-strewn streets. The\npassers-by eye them with amazement. On this day the men of Triton's\ncity do not walk the streets alone, every one of them has a gay\ncompanion by his side. On this day, too, no weapon is borne within the\nwalls; these be certainly strangers who do not know the custom of the\nland.\n\nIn the midst of the flowery market-place stands an old, hollow,\nolive-tree, whose branches touch the earth, and whose glistening green\nleaves distribute their shade over a wide circle.\n\nThe five morose strangers are greeted with friendly words by enticing\nvoices from every doorway. Smiling lips, seductive eyes, look down upon\nthem from the roofs, and flowers are scattered upon them from the\nbridges which span the streets.\n\nSilently, with downcast eyes, the strangers make their way to the old\nolive-tree, where they thrust their lances into the ground; spread their\nmantles over the points and there make a primitive tent in which they\nlay them down to rest.\n\nThe more curious of the mob surround this strange tent, whispering at\nfirst among themselves, then, presuming further, they cry aloud; boldly\npull aside the downward hanging curtains and provoke the strangers with\nrude and shameful words.\n\nBar Noemi rose from his couch and stepped among the crowd.\n\n\"Ye men of Triton's city,\" he cried, \"gather together unto me in your\nthousands!\"\n\nThe men recognized him by his tremendous voice, and, in their terror,\ngave place to the youth.\n\nBar Noemi saw the multitude swaying to and fro in the flowery\nmarket-place; there were as many heads as wreaths.\n\n\"Go and fetch hither all your friends and kinsmen, that they may hear my\nwords!\"\n\nGradually the space around him was full to overflowing, and when all the\nroofs were also thronged with people, Bar Noemi raised his voice and\nspoke.\n\n\"Ye men of Triton's city, listen to my words! The Lord, the only true\nGod, the Lord of heaven and earth and sea speaks thus to you. Five\nrighteous men came to-day into your city in order to stay the judgment\nof the Lord which He has pronounced against you. Your years have come to\nan end, only a few more days remain to you, for the measure of your\niniquities is full to overflowing, and no one will see another moon.\nCast your sins from you, therefore, that the number of your days may be\nincreased! Strew ashes on your locks and sand before your thresholds\ninstead of flowers and green boughs, for I say to you that the Lord has\nbut to beckon with His hand and not a flower, not a green leaf will\nthenceforward grow upon the earth!\"\n\nAt these words the people burst into a roar of laughter.\n\n\"The stranger knows not what he says! Such a beauteous youth and yet so\nsenseless; so strong and yet so cold! Oh the pity of it!\"\n\nThe blithesome groups danced and sang and did homage to the flowers\nwhich grow on the green branches and--on the red lips of the women.\n\nAnd lo! that same night, as Bar Noemi raised his hands to curse, there\ncame from the west with a fearful roaring noise a large, dark cloud, a\nmultitude of locusts, not to be expressed in numbers, condensed into a\ncloud, a pitch-black, evil host, hiding sun and stars and annihilating\ngrasses and flowers wherever it alighted. And then there came with rapid\nwrithings, like an army of infantry, long, hairy, brown caterpillars,\nwhich covered the trees, crept up the houses and marched over the\nbridges and through the streets, in infinite numbers, fell upon every\ntree and shrub and devoured them all to the very roots. In one day the\nwhole region resembled a calcined stubble-field; palms robbed of their\ncrowns, woods with bare trees, every blade of grass consumed,\nannihilated. Only the old olive-tree under which Bar Noemi and his\ncomrades had encamped, kept its strong, dark, glittering leaves.\n\nOn the third day the terrified people hastened to the tent of the\nstrangers, and on their knees besought the youth, who had pronounced the\ncurse, to turn away this plague from them, and not let the land be any\nmore destroyed.\n\nBar Noemi felt compassion for the desolated land, and turning the palm\nof his hand heavenwards, he softly breathed thereon, and at the same\ninstant a strong west wind arose, which swept the countless millions of\nthe locusts into the sea, where they perished miserably, while a mighty\nfrost slew the caterpillars so that not one remained alive. Trees and\nshrubs sprouted forth anew, and, after the first plague had been turned\naway, the first terror disappeared from the hearts of men.\n\nAnd rankly as ever trees and flowers did the wild human passions spring\nup again in their breasts. The rich man sat him down again at his\nsumptuous table, and, puffed up with pride, the inhabitants of Triton's\ncity refused the five men the least nourishment, and commanded them to\nquit the city. If no one dared to drive them therefrom, they should at\nleast be constrained to leave it by hunger.\n\nIn his rage, Bar Noemi stretched out his hand for the second time, and\nthe words of the curse had scarce quitted his lips when, with a\nthunderous sound, the sluices of heaven were opened; the great blue tent\nof the firmament was wrapped in black; the dazzling lightning descended\nupon the earth, and ravaging hail, with devastating fury, shot down from\nthe wrathful heaven and annihilated in a moment the insolent pride of\nthe people.\n\nThis second plague made the inhabitants of the Fortunate Islands\ntremble, and they hastened to bring the most tender of their sacrificial\nofferings to the five righteous men, who would take nothing of their\nbounty save unground grains of wheat, for they were forbidden to taste\nanything prepared in the vessels, seethed in the pots, or baked in the\novens of the sinful people.\n\nThe prayers of the five men appeased the wrath of heaven, and no sooner\nhad the Lord withdrawn His chastening hand, than the impious pride of\nthe people returned to their hearts. The women painted their cheeks\nanew, gilded their eyelids, put on again their glass-spun mantles,\nwalked defiantly through the streets, and mocked the youth who, despite\ntheir ensnaring cajoleries, would not come forth from their tent.\n\nIn the midst of the square in which their tent was pitched, stood a huge\nspring with a broad marble basin; there, every morning and evening,\nthese seductive fairy shapes used to gambol and lave their snow-white\nbodies in the sun-warmed waters.\n\nBar Noemi hid his face in his mantle, and stretched out his right hand\ntowards them with a gesture of loathing, and this gesture was a curse.\n\nIn one night the order of the seasons was changed. In the midst of the\nmost sultry summer, there arose an ice-cold wind, which raged through\nthe land and disturbed the equilibrium of Nature. In a land where ice\nhad never been seen before, the streams were covered with an icy coat of\nmail, and the terrified people saw unknown white flakes fall from\nheaven, which covered woods, fields, streets, and pinnacles with a white\nwinding-sheet.\n\nHa! how the sounds of revelry suddenly died away. On the first day of\nthis wonderful visitation men did not know what to think; they marvelled\nat the ice, the snow, the wonderful frost. But the very next day they\nhad recovered themselves, and were scouring through the hard, frozen\nstreets on sledges, hung with bells, to the sound of music and singing.\nThey protected themselves against the cold with fur pelisses; they built\nthem transparent palaces of ice, made monuments of the snow, and laughed\nat the wrath of heaven.\n\nAt a sign from Bar Noemi the third plague also came to an end. The sun\nagain appeared in his strength; ice and snow melted away; the earth grew\ngreen once more.\n\nAnd even this third plague did not make the people amend. They laughed\nalready at the five youths, and Bar Noemi was challenged to do fresh\nwonders in order to break the dull monotony, the sluggish slowness of\nexistence.\n\nWoe to the people whose children complain that life is dull and slow.\n\nBar Noemi addressed them once more, and for the last time--\n\n\"Ye dwellers in Triton's city, and ye who inhabit the plains of the\nFortunate Islands, hear and spread abroad among you what I say. The Lord\nwill send terrible plagues upon you, through my hand, that ye may repent\nand be converted. In the first week from now I will poison the waters;\nin the second, the earth; in the third, the air, so that what has\nhitherto been the source of life shall become the source of death; what\nhitherto has been the bosom of a loving mother, shall become, from\nto-day, a deep and open grave. Turn you back to God within three weeks\nfrom now, to Him who is merciful towards the righteous, but a terrible\navenger of the wicked.\"\n\nThe frenzied people laughed at his words, and mockingly bade him do his\nworst.\n\nThe heavy curse smote first the flowing waters. The surface of the\nstreams became coated with a thick film of small green beetles, whose\ndisgusting odour completely poisoned them. Every beast which drank\ntherefrom died in horrible torments; the fish floated, belly uppermost,\non the surface of the water, and were cast upon the shores by the green\nfoam. Next the water in the wells became infected. It grew salt, bitter,\nand nauseating; the jets of the fountains were muddied by a subtle\nslime, which they sucked up from the earth below, and all the springs\nlost their fresh coldness, a disgusting, sickly lukewarmness made them\nunfit for use, so that the thirsty beasts turned away from them with\nloathing, and, looking up to heaven, moaned piteously. They had more\nsense than men. For the men of Triton's city laughed at the wonder. If\nthe water was spoilt, was not the wine so much the sweeter? So every one\ndrank wine, nothing but wine--men, women, and children. Stubborn,\nindeed, is the heart of man!\n\nAnd now the living, nourishing earth was smitten by the curse. The earth\nfelt the hand of the Lord, and quaked and sickened with a deadly fear.\nHard, dry chinks and flaws rent the soil asunder, and as the earth's\npangs increased, the hills, the rocks, and the bark of every tree were\ncoated with livid moulds and hideous, sallow excrescences. The fruitful\nearth became a wretched cripple, whose horrible sufferings were visible\nin the trees and grasses. Instead of the sweet fruit, there grew polypi\nnever seen before, poisonous funguses, loathsome gall-bladders. The ears\nof corn were burnt black, the grapes dried and withered on their stems,\nthe honey-yielding reed was covered with wood-lice, the tubers of the\nbread-dispensing roots rotted underground, and gave a curse instead of a\nblessing. Every green thing sickened beneath the curse of God; only man\nfelt no sorrow. Oh! hard indeed was the heart of man!\n\nAnd now the curse infected the vivifying air. Thick, impenetrable\nvapours, black, brown, and dun, descended. The sun became invisible, the\nday became night. The stench of the vile, infecting mist oppressed the\nlungs and provoked convulsive coughing fits; it was a burden to draw the\nbreath of life. There was no longer any staying in the streets. A fetid\ndampness trickled down from the walls, and the thick brooding clouds,\nwhich at other times traverse the air above men's heads, now moved along\nthe surface of the earth; crawling about the streets, and huddling\ntogether over the fields and houses in a manner horrible to behold.\n\n\"What ho, there! Bring hither the flutes, bring hither the trumpets. Let\nevery one sing who can. If the sun will not shine, the torches shall\nburn all the brighter. If clouds float along the streets, the wine bowl\nwithin will be all the more comforting. If life is to be short, let us\nmake the most of it; if death be at hand, may he find every cup of joy\nand pleasure already drained to the dregs.\"\n\nThese thoughts were rampant in every breast, and no one came to the five\nmen beneath the olive tree to beg for God's mercy.\n\nSadly Bar Noemi watched the frenzy of the devoted people, till, in the\nbitterness of his heart, he uttered another and still more grievous\ncurse.\n\n\"Let everything which is dear to man become his abhorrence. Let the\nsweet become bitter, and the bitter sweet. Let meat and drink turn to\npoison. May your dreams haunt you with images of terror. May you find\nsorrow where you seek for joy. May the plague lurk in every kiss. May\nulcers deform the flushing cheek and the smiling countenance, and may\nloathing take the place of lust.\"\n\nAnd when, after seven days, the clouds passed away and the dwellers in\nTriton's city came forth, they shrank back from one another with horror\nand loathing. Ulcers and scabs disfigured every face. Noses and lips\nhad vanished; the hair of the damsels had fallen out; their bodies had\ngrown crooked. God had obliterated His own image in those whose creation\nHe had repented of. And the sky above their heads had lost its bright\nblueness, and henceforth remained dull and livid, and men could gaze\nwithout winking into the pale disc of the midday sun, and count the\nspots thereon.\n\nYet even all this was not enough.\n\nPeople had no longer any reason to find fault with their neighbours. As\nthey were all equally hideous, it became a point of honour to deny the\nfact, so scorn grew all the more outrageous, and defiance all the more\ndetermined.\n\nThe domestic animals no longer recognized their masters. The tame beasts\nwith their mates escaped from the city, and fled with anxious, plaintive\ncries to the mountains. The dogs and the little yellow birds forsook the\ncity in swarms, and fled to the mountains, where they agreed among\nthemselves never to utter another sound. The dogs will bark no more, the\nyellow birds will sing no more, lest their loathsome owners discover\nwhere they are. In their stead ravens and wolves came into the city.\nThere these natural scavengers held a great council, at which they\npartitioned among themselves the inheritance of man.\n\nBar Noemi raised his avenging hand for the eighth time, and cried with a\ndeeply sorrowful voice--\n\n\"Let there be death.\"\n\nAnd he came, that cruel angel, that terrible angel, Malach Hamovez, with\nhis two-edged sword of flame, the slayer of hosts, before whom nothing\nin the height or in the depth can remain hidden, and began his awful\nwork of desolation.\n\nThe small and the insignificant perished first.\n\nIn one day, every little worm and beetle vanished from off the face of\nthe earth, just as if autumn had come and taken them away.\n\nOn the second day the serpents and other reptiles came forth from their\nholes to breathe their last in the plague-stricken sunshine. They lay in\nthousands at the gates of the city.\n\nOn the third day the fowls of the air fell down upon the earth. Stiff\nand stark they whizzed down from the roofs and covered the streets with\ntheir carcases. The wolves saw their companions, the ravens, stiffen out\nbefore their eyes, and they had not the courage to fall upon the\ncarrion, but assembled in troops before the gates of the city and began\nto howl for fear, as if they would say: \"Is there then none to help?\"\n\nOn the fourth day the mammals perished; there they died at the very feet\nof their masters. No other thing was now to be found in the city, but\nman and the primeval monster.\n\nAnd even this last plague did not startle them; they did not shrink back\nhorror-stricken from the appalling solitude; every beast had already\nfallen a prey to death, only they and their idol still lived on.\n\nThere was still time for enjoyment; still they had days to look forward\nto. Still God had not pronounced His most terrible judgment upon them.\n\"Let us wait!\" said they.\n\nAnd at length the angel of death began his fearful work on this race,\nwhich thus disowned their very consciences. A terrible epidemic went\nfrom city to city; men died off helplessly, irremediably; a brief moment\nput an end to their lives; the young and healthy to-day were corpses on\nthe morrow. Already there were more graves than houses; the living no\nlonger sufficed to bury their dead. A wail of anguish resounded through\nthe whole land. Lamentations went from province to province. Men writhed\nconvulsively in the dust.\n\nBut wherefore in the dust? Must not God be sought for in heaven? Does He\ndwell in the dust? Oh! they could not look up. They had prayers only for\ntheir idols. They said: \"These are our gods. We ourselves made them so.\"\nAnd none of them had the courage to say: \"Descend from your altars, ye\nabortions of the earth, ye who are lower than the dust itself, and give\nplace to God, who is the only Lord.\"\n\nInstead of this, they rushed in their frenzied despair to the youths\nencamped beneath the olive-tree, and, hoarsely bellowing, threatened Bar\nNoemi, the author of all these evils, with poisoned arrows and instant\ndeath.\n\n\"Ye who have not bowed beneath the eighth plague, recognize the\nAlmighty's hand in the ninth miracle!\" cried the ambassador of God,\nstamping with his foot on the ground.\n\nAnd oh, wonder! the hard earth began to tremble beneath the feet of the\nraging multitude. At first there was only a sound like a distant wailing\nwind in the depths below, but soon it seemed as if a gigantic car were\nthundering along underground, and shaking the palaces which rose above\nthe surface.\n\nMerciful Heaven! Surely some angry spirit of the depths, striving to\nescape from his dungeon, is shaking the very foundations of the earth,\ngrinding the mountains to pieces, and hurling the rocks into the plains.\nThe surface of the earth resembles a billowy sea; the crowns of the\nloftiest palms sweep the reeling earth, and towers and bastions sink\ndown in ruins.\n\nWho can now sustain those golden palaces? Thousands of columns collapse\non every side. The proud golden cupola topples, and crushes multitudes\nbeneath its falling fragments; the _d\u00e9bris_ of the gigantic pyramidal\ngates cover the ground; the remains of the arched bridges strew the\nruined streets. Dust and rubbish where once was pomp and splendour.\n\nThe terrified people, hastening to the temples of their idols, were\ncrushed by the falling rubbish; the houses of the besotted Bacchanalians\nbury their own secrets; the sinner perishes in the secret haunts of\nforbidden joys.\n\nThe people fly in terror to Triton, the chief of all their idols.\n\nAll around lay the rubbish of the eight walls of the temple; the silver\neffigy of the god had been cast down and lay with its face to the earth.\nBut the living idol sat on its throne as immovable as ever, only the\nlarge, cruel eyes seemed to roll in their sockets as if wondering why\nthe light of day had been withheld from them so long.\n\nThe people threw themselves at the feet of the monster, and, folding\ntheir hands over their heads, cried and howled: \"Help us, O Triton!\"\n\nThe monster himself began to feel the earth trembling beneath his feet,\nand there, on his left side, where a sluggish pulsation was visible\nbeneath the scaly skin, a fear, unfelt before, made his heart throb\nquicker and quicker, and, arising from his throne and raising aloft his\nfrightful head, the monster stood like a tower among the people.\n\nThe idolaters shrieked with joy: \"Ha! God Triton has arisen! Triton has\nheard our words. Triton will fight against the strange God. Now, show\nthy countenance, thou strange God, and tremble before Triton, whose\nheight measures twenty cubits, and whose hand is stronger than the\nlightning.\"\n\nThe blasphemy penetrated to the tent of the five men. Then Bar Noemi\narose; the youths threw their swords over their shoulders, and boldly\nadvanced in the name of the one Almighty God to answer Triton's\nchallenge.\n\nThe priests brought them face to face with the monster, and said--\n\n\"God Triton has arisen to protect us. He has stretched out his strong\narm, and opened his mouth, whose voice puts to silence the thunder. Ye\nstrangers, who have brought destruction upon us, cast yourselves in the\ndust before him, and await the pouring out of his fury, which shall\ndestroy both you and your God!\"\n\nIn Bar Noemi's breast the flames of a superhuman enthusiasm began to\nglow. Round about him swarmed the raging multitude; before him the\nuncouth and unearthly monster towered up to heaven. With a\nfar-resounding voice he spoke to the crowd--\n\n\"Ye dwellers in the dust! Ye dust-worshippers, whom neither blessing,\nnor cursing, neither good nor evil days, can turn from your sins. Ye\nloathsome worms, let the tenth plague smite you that ye may have none to\npray to. Impotent monster, vile brood of hell, bow thee before the Name\nof Him who created thee once, and now annihilates thee, and return to\nthy forefathers--to the worms of the earth.\"\n\nThus speaking, he swung his sharp spear around his head with all his\nmight, and hurled it at the monster. The spear flew hissing over the\nheads of the priests, and there, where the beating of the heart was\nvisible on the left side of the monster, beneath its hard, scaly skin,\nthe spear penetrated, and remained quivering in its heart.\n\nTriton fell down upon his face with a frightful roar, vomiting forth\nstreams of black blood from his gaping jaws, shaking the earth beneath\nthe lashing of his tail, and tearing up the stones all around with his\nclaws.\n\nBar Noemi and his comrades fled before the crowd had time to recover\nfrom its consternation; and when the men of Triton's city at last\nbethought themselves of pursuing the deicides, the ground burst asunder,\nso that a broad gulf lay between the pursuers and the pursued, and a\nstifling, infernal smoke rose up from the abyss.\n\nThe five men reached their home among the glaciers in safety. A great\njoy awaited Bar Noemi on the day of his return. His wife bare him a son,\nwho equally resembled its father and its mother. And this befell to the\ngreat consolation of the dwellers among the glaciers; for it was as if\nHeaven had told them that the spot where an innocent babe was born, on\nthis awful day, had nothing to fear from God's wrath.\n\nThe eldest of the elders received from Bar Noemi's lips an account of\nthe events, and of the marvels which had taken place in the plains\nbelow. Amongst the eleven glaciers, absolutely nothing of all this could\nbe discerned. Here warm summer, bright days, pure air prevailed; the\nmeadows were green, the brooks murmured merrily; here, from the gnat\nbuzzing in the air to the ox lowing in the stall, everything lived and\nrejoiced to live, and a blessing rested on the trees and grasses.\n\nWhen the eldest of the elders had heard from Bar Noemi all these evil\nthings, he commanded that every one who dwelt near the valleys should\ngather together all that he had, and, taking with him his animals,\nmigrate to the uplands and settle there. Heaven would certainly provide\nfor them, and make the dismal snow to melt, and give place to trees and\ngrasses for the nourishment of man and beast.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThree days and three nights did the mortally wounded Triton suffer\nbefore he could breathe forth his millennial life in the dust. For three\ndays his fearful roaring could be heard from one mountain-top to the\nother like incessant thunder, and these ghastly sounds brought forth\nfrom their secret lurking-places the Earth's remaining monsters, the\nhole-inhabiting, subterraneous beasts whose skeletons still excite the\nwonder of a late posterity. The shuddering earth awoke from her slumber\nof centuries, and forth they all came, with their misshapen bodies,\ntheir gigantic heads, their enormous horns, and their dusky, mail-clad\nbodies, to terrify the world once more.\n\n\"Triton is dead! The earth has no longer a god!\" was the furious wail\nwhich ran through the whole land. \"Only the God of the Glaciers still\nlives. Let us go out against him! Let us kill him also! He, too, shall\nlive no more!\"\n\nAnd the rabid millions seized their weapons and marched forth to fight\nagainst God. The monsters that formed a separate people among them\nwhetted their teeth and horns, and rushed madly in their thousands\ntowards the glaciers; and the mammoths stormed their way through the\nprim\u00e6val woods in order to stamp to pieces the people of the glaciers.\n\nThe roar of battle re-echoed through the wide continent. The natural\norder of things seemed to be suspended or abolished. Even the trees and\ngrasses began to fight against Heaven. The leaves of the palm-trees\nstood out stiffly against the sky, like so many swords, and every blade\nof grass, every leaf of every tree turned its point upwards. The rocks,\nhurled one upon another, split asunder, discovering bottomless abysses,\nand the mountains, hitherto so still and peaceful, hurled flames and\nburning stones into the sky in impious anarchy. The earth burst asunder\nin a hundred places, and vomited forth foul, stinking morasses and\nloathsome, black slime into her own bosom, and the woods burst into\nflame, colouring the heavens blood-red.\n\nOnly the rocks of the glaciers still remained white and calm.\n\nAs now the host of the rebel millions and the ghastly shapes of the\nmongrel monsters stormed over the land of the God they blasphemed, vast\nthunderclouds enveloped them on every side. The loud, rattling peals\nrose above the battle din of the wild host, and the vivid lightnings\nscattered death among them with their glowing darts, and scourged them\nincessantly for three days and three nights with fiery scourges.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nCONCLUSION\n\n\nThe people dwelling in the mountains prayed and praised God in the midst\nof their peaceful habitations; only a faint echo of the terrible battle\nbelow reached their ears.\n\nOn the fourth day everything was silent. The clouds that had obscured\nthe sky dispersed, and as the dwellers among the glaciers looked down\nfrom their mountains, lo! a great ocean extended before and around\nthem--a serene and silent watery mirror, whose wide horizon was\nconterminous with the vast firmament--mountain, valley, continent, what\nhad become of them? whither had they vanished?\n\nThe eleven glaciers were also separated by the waters, and had become\neleven islands. The whole mass had sank insensibly some thousands of\nfeet. The warmer atmosphere of the lower regions had begun to melt the\nlayers of eternal snow, and a new life--a new vegetation--was\ndeveloping. On the first spot left clear by the snow Bar Noemi planted a\nlinden--under the shadow of which he erected his hut, and the larger\nthe leafy tabernacle grew the greater grew Bar Noemi's family, and\nGod's blessing grew with it.\n\nThe group of these eleven mountains form the Canary Islands. Of all that\nvast continent, these mountains alone remain. Their fauna and flora, the\nconformation of their coasts, prove that this group of islands is merely\nthe remnant of a submerged world.\n\nTheir later discoverers perceived with astonishment that a peculiar race\nof people inhabited these remotely situated islands--a race hardier and\ncomelier than the men of other nations; a race intelligent and virtuous,\nwhich adored an invisible God, was chaste in its love, simple in its\nlife, and content with its lot. It believed in the resurrection of the\nbody, for it embalmed its dead, and laid them in funeral vaults.\nMoreover, it possessed the arts, and had an alphabet of its own, unlike\nthat of any other people in the world.\n\nThis group of islands, moreover, possessed two other most wondrous kinds\nof inhabitants--a race of dogs and of yellow sparrows. Singular enough,\nboth these species of animals remain dumb in the place of their birth,\nas if some vow prevented them from uttering a word; but they recover\ntheir voices if removed to other climes. The tiny canary birds--those\ngentle, amiable, sprightly songsters come from here. This is their\nproper home. With us they sing as sweetly, as meltingly as once they\nsang in Triton's luxurious city, and many a heart has been saddened by\ntheir songs without exactly knowing why.\n\nThe linden-tree planted by Bar Noemi still stands on the island of\nFerro, whence the geographers draw the first meridian. The tree, which\nmeasures 160 feet in circumference, is already two thousand years old,\nand whole communities repose beneath its branches. Travellers tell us\nthat the leaves of this tree imbibe the atmospheric vapours, and then\ndistil them upon the earth below, thus watering the waterless island\nnight and day. Even to this day the inhabitants hold the tree holy.\n\nBetween Europe and the New World there now extends the infinity of a\nvast ocean, and whoever thinks about it at all must needs say to himself\nthat a whole continent is missing there. Plato has described it; Solon\nhas sung of it; the Arabs speak of it in their fables, and the\nCarthaginians forbade it to be mentioned under pain of death--what more\ndo we want? It must have existed!\n\nNow, however, white sails fly over it.\n\nBut often, when a calm prevails on the ocean, and the dreamy mariner is\nbrooding over the past, wondrous phenomena reveal themselves in the\nheated air before his eyes. On the dun-coloured horizon appear the dim\noutlines of cities with towers turned upside down, whole palm-forests\nwith their crowns reversed. Wondrous, magnificent shapes are these, of\nwhich the existing world knows nothing, and these inimitable edifices,\nthese boldly aspiring cupolas and domes undergo the strangest\nmetamorphoses before the eyes of the astonished seafarer, till a light\nbreeze in an instant dissolves the whole panorama, and nothing is\nvisible around the rocking ship but the endless, the interminable sea.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nTHE HOSTILE SKULLS\n\n\nAs this story is of a somewhat horrible character, I would duly impress\nit upon my more timid readers that, if possible, they had better leave\nit unread. If, however, they have invested their money in the book in\nwhich it appears, they might at least _not_ read it just before going to\nbed, for I don't want the responsibility of their nightmares on my\nshoulders. This, at any rate, I can say: the event recorded actually\nhappened. The fact that I have kept it a profound secret till now does\nhonour to my powers of self-control.\n\nWhen I was a young man, a budding novelist, in fact, as my printed\ntransgressions of that period sufficiently testify, I was much addicted\nto subjects of a mystic, supernatural tendency; tales of mystery, gloomy\nprognostications, fatal accidents, had a peculiar attraction for me. I\nhad a shorter beard, but longer hair, a smaller experience but a larger\ncredulity than now, _then_ it was just as well, _now_ it would not be\nquite as well.\n\nI was thus a very young man when, in the course of a holiday ramble, I\narrived, quite alone, at night-time, at the mansion of one of our most\nenlightened magnates, whom, for the sake of anonymity, I will simply\ncall Squire Gabriel.\n\nWe had seen and heard something of each other. I was a belated traveller\nfar from any hostelry, while he was a householder and lived by the\nroadside, I wanted a night's lodging, he had a castle. All these\ncircumstances gave me a right to call upon him, and he received me right\nheartily, a guest, indeed, was no great rarity at _his_ house.\n\nSquire Gabriel was reputed to be a bit of an oddity, who dearly loved\nhis joke. He had a library, being a well-read man; he had a room full of\nall sorts of stuffed birds and beasts which he had himself shot, and\nwhose names he knew; he had an expensive picture-gallery, interesting\nfamily archives, and he was very much interested in machinery--not the\nsort of machinery that may be applied to useful purposes, but that which\nserves for pure amusement, and is meant to produce startling effects.\nFor instance, he had standing by the door an iron man, who, whenever\nanybody opened the door, at once raised his musket and steadily took aim\nat the intruder till the door was shut, when he respectfully lowered his\nweapon again, to the mortal terror of timid visitors. On the hall table\nmysterious clarionettes played all sorts of tunes whenever any one\nleaned his elbows on it. There was a certain chair from which it was\nimpossible to rise up again if once you sat down again, with so firm a\ngrip did it hold you.\n\nI had often heard tell of these harmless jests, and was quite prepared\nnot to be surprised by them. But Squire Gabriel did not exhibit any of\nhis jests to me. On the contrary, his conversation was grave, and he\nled me into the library, introduced me to his very curious and, indeed,\nreally valuable collection of manuscripts, and showed me his armoury,\nhis collection of seals, to which he ingeniously attached a good many\nsingular historical anecdotes. Indeed, I was so impressed that I begged\nhis permission to take notes of these anecdotes.\n\n\"Certainly, do so by all means,\" he said, with the utmost courtesy, and,\nindeed, it seemed to afford him great delight to see me recording in my\nnote-book what he had just told me of the dames and heroes of bygone\ndays, of whom all that remained was a spur or a slipper, actually before\nour eyes.\n\nWhat a rich source of historical information. Certainly I had no reason\nto regret my coming here.\n\nSquire Gabriel had every reason to be perfectly satisfied with the\ninterest I displayed in his historical recitals. His store, too, was\nabsolutely inexhaustible, fresh _data_ came pouring forth every moment.\n\nIn such diversions we spent the whole evening.\n\nAt supper-time we were joined by the squire's man of business and one of\nhis secretaries, who withdrew after the meal, and Squire Gabriel and I\nremained alone again.\n\nHe ordered tea to be brought into the Gothic chamber, and with the tea\nbeside us, we may have gone on talking for a small matter of another\nhour or so, or, rather, he talked, but I listened.\n\nThe Gothic Room was the largest chamber in the castle wing. It derived\nits name from its curious old-fashioned furniture, and from a couple of\nmedi\u00e6val niches in the Gothic style. The spacious fireplace in the\ncentre of it was piled up with crackling logs, and close beside it were\ncomfortable armchairs and sofas, in which we reclined at our ease and\nsipped our fragrant Pekoe.\n\nThe hearth was warm, the time was late, and the fatigues of travelling,\nI must confess, had made me so drowsy, that more than once during the\ncheerful conversation of my host, I caught myself in the act of\nresolutely inclining my head towards the cushion of the sofa.\n\nSquire Gabriel observed my condition, and said, with a smile--\n\n\"You are very sleepy, I see.\"\n\nI had no reason to be insincere, so I replied that it was the very place\nin which to go to sleep.\n\n\"I should not advise you to do so, however,\" remarked Squire Gabriel,\ngravely, \"there is something queer about this room. I may tell you,\" he\nadded, \"it is not very friendly to strangers, who have even died in it\nnow and then.\"\n\nThese words completely cleared slumber from my eyes.\n\n\"Ghosts visit it, perhaps?\"\n\n\"It would be more correct to say they dwell in it, and they are visible\nday and night.\"\n\nCuriosity made me quite awake now. I began to look about me.\n\n\"When I say ghosts, I would not have you imagine anything so stupid as\nspectres wrapped in sheets and chained with fetters. The _thing_ that is\nhere is a perfectly simple object which can be held in your hand.\nPerhaps you would like to see it?\"\n\nWhat a question! I was immediately on my feet.\n\n\"Where's your ghost? Let me see it!\"\n\nSquire Gabriel led me to one of the niches which was covered by a green\ncurtain, and drawing aside the curtain, pointed out to me two skulls\nwhich were covered by a round glass, and, curiously enough, were turned\nback to back.\n\nI had seen something of the sort before, and was by no means inclined to\nrecognize anything ghostly in them. They were simply fragments of a\nhuman skeleton, as little alarming as an extracted tooth, of which it\nnever occurs to anybody to be afraid.\n\n\"These are the skulls of two brothers, the Counts Kalmanffy, to whom\nthis property formerly belonged, and who built a wing of the castle.\nTheir history is very tragic. They were constantly opposed to each other\nand wrangling about the possession of the castle, and one day, soon\nafter a reconciliation, the elder brother suddenly invited the younger\none to be his guest, and when he had well filled him with strong wine,\ndrove a long nail into his head while he lay there in a drunken sleep.\nThe nail is also here. A servant who was privy to the evil deed\nsubsequently betrayed the elder brother, who was beheaded for his crime.\nHis body they buried as usual under the place of execution, but the\nsevered head they allowed to be buried in the family vault, where the\nbones of the murdered brother were also deposited. The heads of the two\nbrothers were placed side by side in a niche, and so these mortal\nenemies, who could not endure each other during their life-time, were\nturned face to face. On one occasion, however, some one who had to do\nsome work or other in the vault, was amazed to perceive that the heads\nof the two brothers were now turned back to back. The fellow was not\nvery frightened. He had had a good deal to do with human remains, and\nfancied some truant rats might have effected the change, so he simply\nput the two skulls face to face again. Next day he went down to have\nanother look at them, and again they were turned in the opposite\ndirection.\n\n\"And so it went on for a whole week. The fellow turned the skulls round\nevery day, and every night they changed their positions of their own\naccord. The guardian of the vault got quite ill over it. He began to\npine and grow melancholy mad, till at length the young chaplain took the\nbull by the horns, and asked him what ailed him, or if he had anything\non his mind.\n\n\"The old family retainer, with some agitation, confessed the ghostly\nsecret, on account of which he was in a fair way of becoming a ghost\nhimself.\n\n\"The parson was an enlightened man, and was determined to convince the\nsuperstitious old fellow that he was mistaken, so he went down into the\nvault himself to look at this alleged marvel.\n\n\"There, then, the two skulls were, turned back to back, and the old\nservant solemnly swore that the evening before he had placed them cheek\nby jowl.\n\n\"'Impossible,' said the clergyman. 'A lifeless body has no volition.\nThese things are nothing but two pieces of bone, without nerves, without\nmuscles: they _cannot_ move of their own accord.'\n\n\"And, to make his words the more impressive, he seized one of the skulls\nin order to lift it, and show the doubter that it was merely an inert\nmass, incapable of movement.\n\n\"At that very instant the skull gave the clergyman's little finger such\na nip that he could scarce disengage it from its teeth.\n\n\"After that the vault remained closed, and soon afterwards the old\nfamily servant died. As for the clergyman, he carried about with him\ntill his death the mark of the bite on his little finger.\n\n\"The matter was kept secret, and so well kept indeed, that not a soul\nknew a word about it until I came into possession of the property. One\nday, while I was rummaging about in the old library, I came across the\ndiary of the clergyman in question, in which he described the whole\ncase, concluding his mysterious tale with the assurance that the door of\nthe vault had been walled up in such and such a place. Since then a\ngranary had been built up close beside it, and the locality had been\ncompletely forgotten.\n\n\"I immediately searched for the walled-up door. It was easy to discover,\nit had been so minutely described, broke it open and descended into it\nmyself, and at once discovered the two hostile skulls, just as they had\nbeen placed, turned back to back.\n\n\"I confess, despite my naturally cynical disposition of mind, I had not\nthe courage to lift up either of them; but I had the whole slab of stone\non which they reposed, raised just as it was and placed in this room.\n\n\"Since then I have had many an unbelieving guest who has taken the whole\nthing for a joke, and has tried to convince himself of its reality with\nhis own eyes. Although I don't very much like jesting with this sort of\nthing, nevertheless when I really come upon a strong-minded man who is\nnot afraid of running the risk of becoming melancholy mad for the rest\nof his days, I allow him to sleep in this room and persuade himself with\nhis own eyes that the skulls which have been placed face to face in the\nevening, the next morning are found to be turned back to back again.\n\n\"This takes place regularly. My visitors are constrained to believe in\nthis mysterious fact, and since the death of the clergyman already\nalluded to, none has dared to ridicule it.\"\n\nSquire Gabriel could perceive from my eyes that I also had a great mind\nto be convinced of this mysterious circumstance with my own eyes. Show\nme the youth of two and twenty who would not be interested in such an\nenigma!\n\nI begged and prayed him to allow me to sleep in this room, and turn the\nskulls face to face.\n\nSquire Gabriel did not attempt to dissuade me. My curiosity gratified\nhim, he lifted the globular glass, very cautiously turned the two\ndeath's heads face to face, and then covered them again with the glass.\n\nThen he indicated the alcove where I should find my couch, wished me a\ngood night, and left me alone.\n\nThe squire and his secretaries lived alone in the top-floor of the\nspacious castle. The servants slept in rooms on the ground floor.\nBetween the Gothic room and their dormitories lay two or three halls of\nvarious sizes, so that I may be said to have been left alone in my wing,\nand was as far as possible from every human being.\n\nDespite my excited fancy I had still philosophy enough left not to let\nany one play pranks with me. First of all I examined the walls; there\nwas no visible means of entrance into the room. Then I thoroughly\ninvestigated the niche; it was absolutely inaccessible. It was carved\nout of a single slab of hard marble, and was all of a piece. The door I\nbolted, and then drew the sofa before it and lay down on it. I was now\nimmediately opposite the curtained niche.\n\nMoreover I took an additional precaution. The silk curtain which covered\nthe niche was hitched upon some ornamental moulding, and hung down in\npicturesque folds. I took out my pocket-book and made a sketch of the\ncurtain down to the very last detail.\n\nNow, that was a very artful idea of mine.\n\nIf any being, clothed with a jacket, were to try to get at the skulls,\nhe was bound to disturb the curtain; but the slightest contact would\ndisturb its folds, and destroy its resemblance to the drawing of it in\nmy pocket-book.\n\nThen I piled some fresh logs on the fire, placed the candelabra beside\nme on a little one-legged table, and flung myself on the sofa with the\nfirm purpose not to go to sleep.\n\nI knew that tea had the property of keeping a man awake, so I filled\nmyself another cup. I added to it a spoonful of rum. I hardly tasted it.\nYet at other times a spoonful of rum would have been quite enough to\nupset me. I poured in still more. Even that did not make it stronger.\nThen it suddenly occurred to me that there was a flask of cognac in the\ncupboard beside the fireplace. Squire Gabriel had pointed it out to me\na short time before, but then I had not required it. It was very curious\nI should feel the want of strong drinks just at that moment.\n\nI got up to fetch it. I tasted it. It certainly was strong, very much\nso. I filled up my cup with it, and then it occurred to me that there\nwas no wire screen in front of the fire. A spark might pop out of it any\nmoment. I went to the fireplace straightway, and began pushing back the\nburning embers with the poker. A spark popped out and burnt my hand.\nThen I shut the iron register, and went back towards my tea-table.\n\nA nice surprise awaited me.\n\nOn the very sofa which I had drawn up for my own use two gentlemen were\nsitting whom I seemed to know very well, but whose names I could not\nremember. One of them had short, light, curly hair, and an angry red\nbeard; the other had black hair and a long dangling moustache, but was\notherwise clean shaved, and a round bald patch was visible on the top of\nhis head.\n\nThe first of these gentlemen, who was stripped to the shirt, wore a\nsilken vest with gold buttons; the other was dressed in a short linen\njacket, bravely embroidered at the back.\n\nThese two gentlemen were sipping at their ease the cognaced tea which I\nhad prepared for myself. First one took a sip and then the other, the\npair of them out of one cup, quite fraternally.\n\nAmazement first, and then fear, seized me. I durst not approach them,\nbut sat down in a dark corner, from whence I watched to see what they\nwould do.\n\nThe two gentlemen glared oddly enough at each other, and presently they\nbegan to converse.\n\n\"Good evening, Kalmanffy minor!\"\n\n\"Good evening, Kalmanffy major!\"\n\n\"Then you're here again, Kalmanffy minor?\"\n\n\"And here I remain, Kalmanffy major!\"\n\n\"This castle is too strait for the two of us.\"\n\n\"There would be lots of room if one of us dwelt beneath it.\"\n\n\"Beneath it? I suppose you mean in the cellar?\"\n\n\"No, deeper still; in the family vault.\"\n\n\"We must settle this business once for all, Kalmanffy minor.\"\n\n\"Yes, and now that we are quite alone is the time, Kalmanffy major?\"\n\n\"Do you prefer pistols or swords?\"\n\n\"I should like both; but I fear they might betray us.\"\n\n\"True, firearms make a noise, and cold steel makes blood to flow; we\nwant no such witnesses.\"\n\n\"A cup of poison, and drawing lots for it--that would be best.\"\n\n\"Not bad; but it leaves corpse-marks on the face.\"\n\n\"I've a better plan. Here is strong drink before us; let us drink each\nother down.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"Then, whichever of us keeps sober shall do for the other. Here is a\nlong nail and a hammer. If it be driven well into the skull, none will\nbe a penny the wiser.\"\n\n\"True, especially in your case, who have such thick hair; but I have a\nmoon on the top of my head.\"\n\n\"Never fear. I'll make a good job of it.\"\n\nI'm bound to confess that a cold shiver ran through me as I listened to\nthis conversation. Even if I wanted to escape there was no means of\nescaping, for they sat right in front of the door opposite which I had\ndrawn the chair and the sofa.\n\nThen they both began drinking out of the same cup, first one and then\nthe other. They filled it up for each other from the cognac flask right\nup to the brim, so that the liquid flowed over the edge of the cup.\n\n\"Your health, my brother!\"\n\n\"Your health!\"\n\nEach of them always said this with such a devilish smile as he watched\nhis brother gasp and choke as he swallowed the intoxicating stuff, while\nhis head waggled backwards and forwards, and his face turned a ghastly\nyellow or a flaming red, and the veins on his temples stood out in green\nand blue knots like strained cords.\n\n\"You are drunk, my brother!\"\n\n\"Nay, 'tis you.\"\n\nMeanwhile the candles burning on the table began to burn low. It seemed\nas if a bloody mist were enveloping their flames, which gradually\nassumed a dusky lilac hue. The two faces suddenly went quite pale, the\ntwo heads suddenly grew quite shaky; it was hard to say which of them\nwould fall down first.\n\nThe flames of the candles had now passed into the darkest green, and in\nthat green light the two faces seemed of a deadly pallor. They were no\nlonger able to converse, but glared at each other with stony eyes, and\nkept offering each other the intoxicating drink.\n\nSuddenly the candles flared up, and then went out. The two figures\ninstantly disappeared.\n\nThe moon was shining through the painted windows in all her glory; the\nburning logs in the fireplace cast a rosy light into the semi-darkness.\nI was alone in the room.\n\nI dreamt it all, I said, and I laughed at myself, though my teeth kept\non chattering. It was a dream, a dream, I kept on reassuring myself. Now\nI will go and lie down. I'll take off my things, I'll get into bed, I'll\ndraw the bed-clothes over my head, and then let them go on haunting as\nmuch as they like. They may rise from their graves and roam about to\ntheir hearts' content. I shall simply take no notice.\n\nThe moon shone with a beautiful white light; the fire gave forth a nice\nrosy illumination. I had no need of the candles, which I could not have\nlit had I wanted to, for they had burnt down to the very socket. I shall\nbe able to find the bed quite comfortably. So I undressed myself\nleisurely, wound up my watch, and drew aside the curtains of the alcove\nwhich contained the bed, in order to lie down on it.\n\nHorror rooted me to the spot.\n\nIn the bed lay the two brothers side by side; two fearfully distorted\ncorpses. One of them lay on his back, but with his face looking down,\nand in his bald head the head of the nail shone in the moonlight like a\ndark blue spot; the other brother lay beside him with his head turned\ntowards the sky.\n\nHorror, I say, paralyzed me. I had not strength to move a limb. I would\nhave cried out, but I had no voice. I would have seized the bell-rope,\nbut my hand was powerless. I would have fled, but my legs weighed me\ndown like lead. My chest was oppressed, my legs were benumbed. At last,\nwith a most desperate effort of my will, and after frightful torments, I\npronounced something or other--and immediately awoke.\n\nThose who have suffered from nightmare will understand what a torture it\nis under the circumstances to utter a word.\n\nIt was morning, and the sun was shining through the tall poplars. There,\ntoo, I was lying on the sofa in front of the closed door, where I had\nlaid down in order not to fall asleep.\n\nThe candles really had burnt down to their sockets, and the teacup was\nreally empty. However, I was inclined to believe that I had put nothing\ninto it the night before, and that tea, rum, and cognac had all been\nsimply dreamt.\n\nBut--now comes the most terrible part of this ghost story.\n\nWhat had been happening in the niche all this time?\n\nThe curtain was precisely as I had sketched it, not a wrinkle of a fold\nhad been changed in it.\n\nTherefore, nobody could have laid hands upon it.\n\nStill completely possessed by the memory of my nightly visions, I\napproached the mysterious niche, and I cannot deny that my hand trembled\nas I drew aside the curtain.\n\nAnd, behold .\u00a0.\u00a0. the two mortally hostile skulls were turned back to\nback!\n\nA cold shudder ran twice or thrice right down my body.\n\nThis, at any rate, was no dream. I _saw_ it. It was broad daylight.\nOutside, the usual daily noise and racket had begun, and at that very\ntime I saw before me the most frightful of phantoms.\n\nThen things really do happen beneath the sun which our philosophy cannot\naccount for?\n\nThen it is a fact that those two lifeless skulls live and hate and turn\nfrom each other even after death?\n\nI don't believe it, it is impossible, it is not true.\n\nI see, I tremble at it, and yet it is not true.\n\nIt _is_ true, and yet I don't believe it.\n\nI then bethought me of the story of the clergyman who was said to have\ndiscovered the subterranean marvel, and dared to put his hand on the\nhead of the spectre, and then carried about the marks of its teeth to\nhis dying day.\n\nI don't care.\n\nI'll let it bite me too.\n\nI lifted the glass from the skulls. My heart may have beaten violently,\nI don't deny it. I stretched out my arm. My hand came in contact with a\ncold jaw-bone. I raised it and turned it round.\n\nHah!\n\nWhat had happened? Had it bit me?\n\nI should have flung it away with all my heart if it had; but at that\ninstant I discovered that it was provided with a cunningly constructed\npiece of clockwork, which made it turn round if you pressed a spring.\nThe other skull was provided with a similar contrivance.\n\nAt the breakfast-table I encountered Squire Gabriel. As usual he was\nvery solemn, so was I.\n\n\"How did you sleep?\" he inquired, with sympathetic courtesy.\n\n\"Thank you, very badly. I drank lots of tea yesterday evening, and it\nplagued me with all manner of spectres.\"\n\n\"And what did the skulls do?\"\n\n\"Well, they seem to have quite distinguished themselves for my special\nedification, for they not only turned their backs on each other, but\neven stood on their heads.\"\n\nAt these words, Squire Gabriel laughed greatly.\n\n\"So you looked inside them, eh?\"\n\n\"I did.\"\n\n\"Now, look here! Forty persons have slept in that room; all of them have\nhad experience of the marvel, and not one of them has looked to see if\nthere was anything in the skulls.\"\n\n\"They feared, perhaps, that it would fare with them as with the\nadventurous clergyman.\"\n\n\"Were you not afraid?\"\n\n\"Certainly, a little, but my curiosity was even greater than my fear.\nAnd now I very much regret I did look.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because I am an historical anecdote the poorer.\"\n\nAt this Squire Gabriel laughed more than ever.\n\n\"And I will make free to ask another question. Are the anecdotes, which\nI noted down in my memorandum-book yesterday, equally authentic?\"\n\n\"You may boldly light your pipe with them,\" replied the nobleman, with a\nsmile.\n\nI only did not do so because I am not in the habit of eating smoke.\n\nOnly one thing Squire Gabriel begged of me. I was not to mention my\ndiscovery to any one else, so that he might be able to give a salutary\nshock of terror to others also.\n\nI promised that I would keep the secret for ten years.\n\nThe ten years expired last week, so the story of the two ghostly skulls\ncan now become public property.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nTHE BAD OLD TIMES\n\n\nIn those sad times when the accursed, merciless Tatar was ravaging our\ngood country, two good Hungarian brother warriors and kinsmen, Simon and\nMichael Koppand, after the devastation of Tam\u00e1sfalu, of which great city\nnot a vestige remains to the present day, escaped somehow from the\nburning and massacring, and taking refuge among the bulrushes, lay\nconcealed therein for many days and nights, often up to the tops of\ntheir heads in water, for the evil, bloodthirsty enemy scoured even the\nmorasses in search of fugitives, with the firm determination of\nextirpating every Magyar from the face of the earth once for all.\n\nThus, hiding by day and skulking by night, they made their way gradually\nbut steadily towards the west, so far as the course of the stars pointed\nit out to them, hoping still somewhere to find a refuge. They had no\nother food but the eggs of wild ducks and moorhens, and whatever they\nmight find in the nests of the marsh-birds that they lived upon.\n\nOne day, when they had already gone a long way and thought that they had\nwell distanced the Tatars, they ventured to emerge from the wilderness\nof rushes, and by the beautiful light of the moon they then beheld,\nsome distance in front of them, a tower.\n\nThat means there must be a town there, they thought, let us make for it,\nthere we shall be in safety, so far the Tatar has not come. For every\nman in those days believed that then, as had been usual at other times,\nevery robber horde, bursting into a kingdom, when once it has well\nloaded itself with booty, returns again as a matter of course to its own\ncountry.\n\nAll night, then, they proceeded in the direction of the tower before\nthem. When they drew close to it they perceived for the first time that\nthis tower had no roof; but when they got closer still they saw that all\nthe houses of the town had been levelled with the ground, and when they\nentered the street they saw that none dwelt there, but wolves and savage\ndogs bayed at them from behind the pillars of the gates, within which\nevery sort of human shape was lying, shapes without heads, women\ntransfixed with darts, mothers with long, dishevelled, black tresses\ncovering their children with their dead bodies.\n\nThe youths covered their eyes with horror at this spectacle.\n\nBut still there they must remain till the night of the following day,\nconcealed somewhere, for dawn was now close at hand and it was not good\nto come out in the open in the bright sunlight.\n\nSo they went into the church that they might hide themselves there,\neither in the crypt or perhaps in a sacristy.\n\nHah, the whole church was a funeral vault. There they had cut down the\npride, the flower of the nation. Women, men, and children lay heaped up\ntogether among the burnt rafters, the pale moon shining through the\nroofless and dilapidated building illuminated them.\n\nInside they had to wield their swords with right good will to drive out\nthe wolves who had come hither to perform the office of grave-diggers,\nand who as often as they were chased away came back and bayed at the\nopen door.\n\nThen said Simon, the elder of the two brethren: \"Brother Michael, these\nevil wolves will give us no peace, and because of them we shall get no\nrest, and yet, for sheer weariness and want of sleep, we can go not a\nstep further. Lie you down, therefore--your best place will be close\nbeside the altar, for there God is not far from you, and I meanwhile\nkeep guard the door and keep the wild beasts away from you, and when I\nam aweary, then you shall rise up and watch over me.\"\n\nMichael sought him out, therefore, a place near the altar, and lay down\nbeside the dead body of a warrior, it looked just as if the two of them\nwere sleeping, or as if the two of them were dead. Simon, meanwhile,\ngathered together some fallen darts from the field of battle, found him\na bow, and leaned against the lintel of the doorway. Whenever the\nhideous monsters approached, he shot an arrow among them, and every time\nhe did so a fight arose between the wounded wolf and the others, which\nhe thought had bitten him. This disgusting combat lasted amidst ugly\nsnarling and snapping for about an hour, when an old wolf began to howl\nhideously, as if by way of signal to his fellows, who howled back again\nfrom every part of the town, and then suddenly the whole lot of them\nmade off, scattering in every direction.\n\nSimon speedily conjectured the cause of this sudden flight, hastened\nback to his brother and cried--\n\n\"Awake, little brother! I hear the hoot of the horns, the Tatars are\ncoming back.\"\n\nThere was no other hope of escape than for the pair of them to lie down\namong the dead bodies with their faces turned earthwards, thus quietly\nto await the new-comers.\n\nPresently they appeared amidst the ruins of the church.\n\nOfttimes it happened thus. The Tatars thought to themselves: The people\nwho have taken refuge fancy we have nothing more to seek in the\ndevastated towns, and will come out of their holes, let us go and hunt\nthem down. And in this way very many perished.\n\nIt was a man of that very town who led them back. An inhabitant of a\nChristian town had become a Tatar, joined himself to the enemies of his\nfaith and country, and went before to show them the best places to\nplunder.\n\nAnd this wicked, accursed man was now wearing the Tatar dress, a\nhigh-peaked fur cap, white breeches, and murdered the Tatar tongue to\ngive them pleasure--God grant the words may stick in his throat and\nchoke him.\n\nThe two brethren could gather from their talk that the evil renegade had\nled the enemy hither in order that he might show them the entrance to\nthe crypt in which the fugitive population had concealed their\ntreasures, and then walled up the door behind them. They immediately\nbroke it open, and with a great racket and uproar dispersed among the\ndiscovered treasures, breaking in pieces whatever was too large to be\ntaken away whole. The renegade got for his share the cover of a pyx,\nwhich the vile wretch stuck in front of his cap by way of ornament.\n\n\"Let me once get a fair hold of you!\" thought Simon the warrior to\nhimself. He was looking on at all this with half an eye as he lay among\nthe dead bodies.\n\nThen the murderous Tatars piled up a fire on the altar, slaughtered a\nhorse in the church, broiled it in hunks on huge spits, and squatted\ndown to devour it. It was an abomination to behold them. The Tatar\nconvert ate along with them.\n\nSuddenly a burning ember from the crackling fire lit upon Michael the\nwarrior's extended palm. Simon the warrior saw it well, and trembled\nlest his younger brother might make some movement under this burning\ntorture, when both of them must needs perish. But warrior Michael, very\nnicely and quietly, closed tightly the palm of his hand, so that nobody\nnoticed it, and stifled the burning ember so that not even its expiring\nfizzle was audible.\n\nTowards dawn the Tatars began to set off again, mounted their barebacked\nhorses and scudded further on, never observing that they had left two\nliving men among the dead bodies.\n\nThe two warriors were careful not to leave the church till late in the\nevening, but went on fighting there with the beasts of the field, and,\nin the daytime, they found yet other adversaries in the vultures who\nhovered all day above their heads, and all but tore their eyes out with\ntheir claws, because they stood between them and the dead bodies. They\ngave thanks to God when at sundown they were able to quit the horrible\nplace and go on further.\n\nAlong the level plain they went as quickly as they could hasten, not\neven daring to look behind them, though there they would have seen\nnothing but the black clouds of smoke from the burning towns, which the\nwind drove over their heads. Behind them the Tatar was coming.\n\nTowards evening they reached a lofty hill, in which dwelt a gipsy. The\ngipsy was doubly a foe, being both an alien and a heathen, he was,\ntherefore, just the sort of man to give good advice to fugitives.\n\nIn those days all sorts of folks were flying from the Tatars, flying\nwhithersoever they saw light before them, some on foot, some on\nhorseback, some on cars, men, women, and children.\n\n\"Alas! my dear creatures,\" wailed the gipsy, \"you come to a bad place\nwhen you come hither. You would do very much better to turn back in the\ndirection whence the Tatar bands are coming, for they, at least if you\nsurrender, will not cut you down, but will only make slaves of you. But,\nalas! in front a far greater danger awaits you, for in yonder forest\ndwell giants, terribly huge monsters with antlered heads and mouths so\nwide that they can swallow a man down whole. They seize all those who\nfly towards the forest and roast them on large spits. They don't hurt me\nbecause I give them wine to drink when they come hither.\"\n\nBefore now the refugees had heard from the warriors flying from the\ndirection of Grosswardein of these Tatar giants who had scattered a\nwhole host by simply appearing before it. Nay, a herdsman, a worthy man\nof Cumanian origin, had sworn that he had seen them. They strode over\nthe fields, he said, four ells at one stride, and one of them had sat\ndown quite easily on the roof of a house, with his legs dangling down.\n\nAt this rumour, the poor, terrified, common folks preferred to run back\ninto the jaws of the Tatars, rather than fall beneath the fangs of these\nmonsters; but the two Koppands said to one another very prudently--\n\n\"Look, now, there are far fewer of these monsters, whereas the Tatars\ncan be numbered by hundreds of thousands. The flesh of a giant is but\nflesh, and a sword may pierce it. Goliath also was a giant, and a\nshepherd's son slew him. Let us rather go against them.\"\n\nAnd they set off towards the forest.\n\n\"Well, you will repent it,\" the gipsy cried after them.\n\nAs the warriors drew near to the forest, there emerged from among the\ntrees twelve terrible forms, thrice as big as ordinary men. They had\nheads as large as barrels, their moustaches were like horses' tails,\nthey covered two ells at each stride, and swords two ells in length hung\nheavily on their shoulders.\n\n\"Well, little brother,\" said Simon the warrior, grasping the hilt of his\nsword at the sight, \"either they are going to eat us or we will eat\nthem, choose your man and I'll choose mine.\"\n\nAnd they drew their swords and rushed upon the giants.\n\nThe monstrous shapes at first raised a great shout at them, and\nflourished their swords, but perceiving that they could by no means\nterrify the two warriors, they turned tail, and with long strides\nhastened back towards the forest.\n\nThey were no giants from the hand of Nature after all, but only jugglers\nof the Tatar khan who could stride about on long stilts, and dressed up\nto ape God's wonders, so as to scare back the fugitive population into\nthe claws of its murderers. The gipsy knew this very well, for he was in\nleague with them.\n\nWhen Simon the warrior saw the giants take to flight, he encouraged his\nbrother still more against them. But they had no need to hunt for them\nin the forest, for they could not move quickly enough on their stilts\namong the trees and shrubs, their masques and wrappings also impeded\nthem, so that they could not make a proper use of their heavy swords, so\nthe two brothers cut down every one of them without mercy, and stuck\ntheir painted monster heads on the tops of stakes on the borders of the\nforest, that the flying people might take courage at the sight when they\nbeheld them from afar. And the name of the treacherous gipsy Simon the\nwarrior wrote down on the hilt of his sword.\n\nAnd then they again set out westward, till at length they reached the\nwaters of the Theiss, where they found a ferry, in front of which many\npeople were then waiting, all of whom had fled from before the Tatars.\nThe toll was in those days collected by certain of the Patarenes or\nAlbigenses, for in the days of King Andrew and the Palatine Dienes, all\nthe tolls had fallen into the hands of such-like oppressed people. It\nmight be supposed that in times of such great danger, when every one was\nflying from fire amidst bloodshed, that the ferrymen would let the\nfugitives over the rivers for nothing. And of a truth Christian Magyar\nmen would have so done, but the impious Patarenes laid heavier\ncontributions than usual on the refugees, who fled from before the\nTatars, carrying all they possessed on their persons, and these last\npossessions they had to give up to the godless ferrymen. The women had\nto give up their earrings, the men their shoe-buckles by way of ransom,\nto the hard-hearted wretches to ferry them over. But those who had\nnothing and were flying as beggars received godless usage at their\nhands, for they were compelled to repeat after them a Manich\u00e6an prayer,\nwhich was nothing but a frightful blasphemy against the one true God and\nHis saints in the Tatar tongue. And very many repeated it not thinking\nat all in their deadly fear of the salvation of their souls. Those who\nfeared to utter the abomination searched elsewhere for a ford across the\nTheiss, or, if they could swim, set about swimming, and so many perished\nthere.\n\nThe two brethren had nought wherewith to pay the ferry-toll but the\nblaspheming Tatar prayer. Simon the warrior said he would rather let\nhimself be cut in pieces by the Tatars than blaspheme the true God and\nthe Blessed Virgin, but Michael, having more _sang-froid_, assured him\nthat he would say it for them both, and made out that his brother was\ndumb. He, therefore, repeated the horrible blasphemy twice, once for\nhimself and once for his elder brother, while Simon, with clenched\nfists, repeated silently to himself an Our Father and a Hail Mary! Thus\nthey got ferried over to the opposite shore; and when Simon the warrior\nreproached his brother for yielding to compulsion and repeating the\nblasphemous verses, Michael reassured his elder brother by telling him\nthat after every verse he had said to himself: \"Not true, not true.\" Yet\nfor all that it was a grievous sin.\n\nAnd warrior Simon marked the name of the Manich\u00e6an on the hilt of his\nsword.\n\nBut now the refugees plunged into the jaws of a fresh danger. The great\nbattle of the Sajo[22] had just been lost. The Tatar flood filled the\nwhole space between the Danube and the Theiss. When they emerged on the\nborder of a forest, the two brothers saw nothing all around them, right\nup to the horizon, but the smoke of burning villages. They returned,\ntherefore, into the forest, and began to fare northwards, hearing on\nevery side of them the sound of the Tatar horns replying to each other;\nseeking a refuge for the night in the trunks of hollow trees, and\nfinding no other sustenance than wild honey and beach-mast with which to\nsatisfy the cravings of hunger.\n\n     [Footnote 22: On the Muhi _puszta_, near the river\n     Sajo, the Tatars defeated King Bela and the Magyars in\n     1241.]\n\nOn the fourth day they reached a respectable house in the midst of the\nforest, which was defended neither by trench nor bastion, and yet was\nnot burnt down.\n\nThe young warriors marvelled thereat; they did not know that in this\nhouse dwelt a Moor, and the Moors were all on the side of the Tatars.\nThey brought them tidings, conducted them to the towns, and were their\nspies and receivers. What the Tatars stole they bought of them cheaply,\nand peddled it in Moravia, and even further still. This was the house of\none of these hucksters. A great red ox's head was painted on the door,\nthat the Tatars might recognize that the dweller therein was one of\ntheir men.\n\nThe Moor received them with great amiability when they crossed his\nthreshold, assured them that they might stay with him, and immediately\nset about making ready a meal for them, which was a great consolation to\nthe honest, starving wanderers. While they were complaining to their\nhonest host of the hardships they had undergone, a noble lady came\npanting up to the house, from whose ragged robes and unstitched sandals\none could see that she had fled afar for refuge, and asked whether her\nbeloved husband and her little boy had come thither. There were five of\nthem hiding in the forest, she said; her husband, with their little boy,\na faithful retainer, a nurse, and a little baby. All at once they had\nheard the barking of dogs, and her husband had said that the other three\nshould remain behind in a cave, while he himself, with the little boy,\nwent on in front to look about, and see whether there were any human\ndwelling near at hand. They had waited for him a long time, till at last\nthe wife, terrified at the long absence of her husband, had come forth\nherself to seek him. Were they perchance here?\n\n\"It is possible they may have come hither, my child,\" said the Moor,\nwith a shrug; \"many seek refuge here nowadays. What were they like?\"\n\nThe woman described her husband's appearance and his garments, and then\nthe little boy. On the little boy's finger, she said, was a black\nhorsehair ring, with a little white cross. None could take it off, even\nif they killed him for it; he could be recognized by that.\n\nThe Moor replied that he had not cast eyes on them, and the poor woman,\nwailing and ringing her hands, went further on to seek for her husband\nand her little boy.\n\nMeanwhile, a meal had been served up for the young warriors--seethed\nflesh in a huge caldron. The Moor also brought them wine, and, hoping\nthey would enjoy their food, left them to themselves.\n\nSir Michael, who was very hungry, would have attacked the liberal repast\nforthwith, but Sir Simon stopped him.\n\n\"Had we not better first offer up our thanks, Michael?\" said he.\n\nSo they said a grace, as it becomes God-fearing men to do, and then only\ndid they turn to their meat.\n\nAnd behold! God had mercy on them, and was gracious to them, for when\nSir Michael plunged his curved eating-knife into the kettle, what think\nyou he brought out of it on the point of his knife? A tiny bone\nencircled by a black horsehair ring, with a tiny white cross in the\nmidst of the ring.\n\nThe youths leaped in terror to their feet, and, with no further thought\nof either meat or drink, and without taking leave of host or hostess,\nrushed from thence as fast as their legs could carry them, and only late\nin the evening arrived in front of the cave of a poor hermit, to whom\nthey told the horrible thing that had befallen them.\n\n\"Give thanks to God, my sons,\" said the old ascetic, \"that He has\ndelivered you from that evil place, for the dwellers therein are none\nother than the impious Moors, the spies of the Tatars, who give to the\nrefugees who seek a shelter there, stupefying drugs in their drink, and,\nwhen sleep has overcome them, chop off their heads. For the heads they\nget a denarius a piece from the Tatars, and the flesh of the bodies they\ngive to the refugees who come afterwards, thus most monstrously causing\nthe Magyars to eat the bodies of their own brethren. Rejoice that you\nhave not tasted thereof. Clear fresh water and dried roots will now be a\nbanquet to you, and we will share them together. Remain here till\nmorning, and then go even higher and higher towards the north; you\ncannot miss your way. On whichever side of the trees you find moss, in\nthat direction the north will be. If you go a seven days' journey\nthrough valleys and hills, you will see before you the highest mountains\non the borders of Hungary; there will you hear a bell, and it shall\nguide you. There you will find a shelter--there are the Stones of\nRefuge, which those who are skilled in war have provided with means of\ndefence, so that they may receive fugitives from every quarter. There\nalso will be a good place for you. You will find there an altar, bread,\nstrong bastions, which the good God and your good swords will defend\nagainst a thousand enemies. Stop nowhere till you reach that place, for\ndanger and desolation are over all the land.\"\n\nThe young warriors kissed the hand of the good old man for his good\ncounsel, and early in the morning, according to his directions, went all\nalone through the dense forests. They went far, they went for a long\ntime, they left behind them the oak hills, they left the beech hills\nbehind them, and now they were among the dark, solemn pines, but further\nand further still they had to go.\n\nBut one morning, when they had sat down to rest among the lofty\nmountains, the voice of a bell, coming from afar, struck upon their\nears. It was the voice of a very large bell, such bells as are only to\nbe found in such cities as Feh\u00e9rv\u00e1r or Nagy V\u00e1rad, in the cathedrals.\n\nSir Michael leaped with joy at the sound.\n\n\"Here must certainly be the Rocks of Refuge,\" he cried.\n\nBut his brother Simon only shook his head.\n\n\"We have still further to go, my brother. The holy man said it was at\nleast a seven days' journey from here.\"\n\n\"Ah! no doubt he measured the distance with his own feet, and they are\nold.\"\n\n\"But the sound of this bell comes not from the north, but much more from\nthe west.\"\n\n\"No doubt we have lost the proper direction.\"\n\nAnd Sir Michael persuaded his elder brother, Simon, not to go any\nfurther, but turn aside and discover from whence came the sound of the\nbell, for surely none but a Christian man would signal with a bell. No\ndoubt they did so to prevent folks from losing their way, so that they\nmight turn in thither and find a place of refuge from the enemy.\n\nSimon at last agreed, and they proceeded in the direction from whence\nthe sound of the bell came, and when they had emerged from the forest a\nlittle pebbly valley opened out before them, through which wound a\nlittle brook, and over the brook a great footbridge was cast. But the\nbridge led up to a great rocky castle, with a large pointed tower in\neach of its four corners, and a fifth tower in the middle. There were\nbells in all five of these towers, and they were pulling them as if they\nwere ringing in a procession.\n\n\"These be certainly the Rocks of Refuge!\" cried Sir Michael, once more.\n\n\"The hermit said nothing of such towers and bastions as these,\" remarked\nhis brother Simon, hesitating.\n\n\"They may have been built since last he was here,\" replied his brother.\n\nAnd so they went on towards the castle. But it struck them as strange\nthat there were neither peasants' huts, nor a village, nor cottagers'\ndwellings at the base of this strange castle, as there was wont to be\nelsewhere. How was that?\n\n\"No doubt they have gathered all the peasantry within the walls of the\ncastle.\" Thus did the credulous Sir Michael explain it all.\n\nThe watchman on the tower, when he saw the travellers drawing near,\nimmediately sounded his horn, whereupon they let down the drawbridge\nwhich connected the footbridge with the castle gate. Strong retainers\ncame forth to meet the new arrivals, and when the travellers gravely\ntold them that they had come from afar, from the midst of the devastated\nkingdom, and knew not whether this was a good place of refuge or not,\nthe men laughed aloud and said: \"Yes, you have indeed come to a good\nplace, comrades, for this is the castle of Sir Fulko, a famous and\nwell-known warrior. The Tatar cannot come hither, though he fill up the\nwhole valley. Here, too, there is no lack, for here is enough to eat and\ndrink and to spare. Have you any treasures which you want put into a\nsafe place?\"\n\n\"Of a truth we have nothing at all but our good swords.\"\n\n\"Well, so much the better. You can enter into the knight's service, and\ncan win a good wage by fighting valiantly beneath his banner.\"\n\n\"We want no money for our service; it suffices us if we can fight\nagainst the pagans beneath a good leader.\"\n\nThe lackeys laughed at the valorous way in which the youths spoke, and\nled them into the castle, and soon afterwards they brought them scented\nwater in silver ewers, and made them wash and bathe themselves. Then\nthey brought them splendid velvet and flowered damask garments\nembroidered with gold and crusted with diamonds. They also anointed\ntheir locks with fragrant unguents. Sir Fulko, they said, had commanded\nall these things to be done; he always received his guests with the like\nhospitality.\n\n\"But perchance we do not deserve this great honour,\" said Sir Simon,\nblushing, who was always a shamefaced man when favours were forced upon\nhim.\n\n\"Oh, you'll have your full share of far more than this,\" said the\nservants, jocosely. \"Our master has prepared a banquet for us all, and\nthe young ladies, the daughters of Sir Fulko, Meryza and Siona, will be\nat the banquet also. You will sit beside them.\"\n\n\"But what odd names they have!\" cried Sir Simon. \"Where were they\nchristened to get such names as these?\"\n\n\"Don't trouble your heads about that. To-morrow you will be able to say\nwhich of the twain is the most beautiful.\"\n\nSir Michael's heart was immediately interested in imagining which of the\ntwo ladies was likely to be the fairest, but his elder brother, Simon,\nwas busy with very different thoughts.\n\n\"Is there no chapel here?\" he asked. \"We should like to go there first\nto give thanks to God for delivering us from the midst of so many\ndangers. It is now many weeks since we had an altar before us, only in\nthe woods, at break of day, with the fowls of the air, have we been able\nto pray to God.\"\n\nThe lackeys again laughed at them.\n\n\"Leave all that now, good friends, you can find your way about\nto-morrow; a priest you can see at any time. Now come to the feast; they\nmust have sat down to table long ago.\"\n\nSir Simon shook his head a good deal at this. He did not much like a\nplace where they spoke of the altar so lightly; but he did not want to\nbegin a brawl, so he allowed himself to accept the invitation, but he\nreminded his younger brother that after their long fast it would be as\nwell to partake of the feast sparingly, and not drink too much wine,\nlest harm might come of so sudden a repast.\n\nAt the blast of a trumpet the inner folding doors of the castle were\nthrown open, and the youths were conducted into the banqueting-room.\n\nThe two honest young warriors felt the light of their eyes darkened by\nthe great splendour which now burst like enchantment upon them from all\nsides. The tables were piled with silver plate and golden beakers;\nchairs and benches were gorgeously carved and painted; the windows were\nfull of coloured glass; the chairs, at the heads of the tables, were\nupholstered in velvet and surmounted by canopies as if they had been\nplaced there for princes. At the back of every chair stood a heyduke in\nparade garments of cloth of gold, scarlet mantles, and with silver wine\npitchers in their hands. Then the folding doors at the opposite end of\nthe banqueting-room were thrown open, and through them came the guests\nof the lord of the castle, each richly attired gentleman conducting a\nbeautiful damsel by the right hand. The ladies swept the floor with\ntheir heavy silk dresses, and diamonds and carbuncles sparkled on their\nforeheads and in their bosoms. They took their places in couples around\nthe long, loaded tables, a man and a woman side by side. Finally, three\nfanfaronades announced the arrival of the master of the castle, Sir\nFulko, an obese figure almost collapsing beneath the weight of the\nprecious stones and gems he wore. He led a lady by each hand, his\ndaughters Meryza and Siona.\n\nThe former, whom he led by the right hand, was a marvellously beautiful\ndamsel; a tall, stately, dignified figure, who lifted her head as\nhaughtily as one who knew that every one present was indeed her very\nhumble servant.\n\nThe second damsel, whom Fulko led by the left hand, was small and\nhump-backed: she never raised her eyes nor looked around her, like one\nwho knew right well that every one despised her. It was easy enough to\nsay which of the twain was the more beautiful.\n\nAt this spectacle Sir Michael fancied he was dreaming, so blinded were\nhis eyes by the sheen of the precious stones, that he knew not whether\nhe was in earth or heaven. But Sir Simon, when he beheld all the\nsplendour before him, bethought him that at this very time King Bela[23]\nwas drinking out of his helmet water stained with bloods from the banks\nof flowing streams.\n\n     [Footnote 23: After losing the Battle of the Sajo,\n     where 65,000 Magyars vainly endeavoured to arrest the\n     march of 500,000 Mongols, Bela fled for a time into\n     Austria.]\n\n\"Knights and dames to your places!\" cried Sir Fulko. \"Here beside me\nwill sit Sir Simon and Sir Michael; the latest guest always has the\nfirst place at _my_ table. Sit down beside my daughters. This is my\ndaughter Meryza, and that my daughter Siona.\"\n\nMichael so contrived that the fair Meryza sat next to him, but Sir Simon\ntook his place next to the meek-eyed Siona, but first of all he said\ngrace to himself in a low voice, at which the other guests laughed\ngreatly; the good knight was making quite a scandal, they said.\nNevertheless, a voice beside him whispered softly: \"Amen! Amen!\" He\nlooked in that direction and saw the humpbacked Siona, and at that\nmoment the deformed damsel seemed lovelier to him than the stately\nMeryza.\n\nThe guests drank right gallantly; they required no very urgent\ninvitation thereto, and when they had all got pretty full skins, they\nrequested the new-comers to tell them the story of all that had\nbefallen them on their way thither.\n\nSir Michael, not possessing the gift of eloquence himself, beckoned to\nhis elder brother to speak. Simon, therefore, got on his legs, and\nimagining he had to do with honest patriots whose hearts could be\ntouched, he began to tell them of the mournful events he had seen. As\nhis narrative proceeded he was carried away more and more by his\nemotions; the terrible scenes rising again before his eyes gave\ninspiration to his lips, so that at last he spoke with such feeling that\nthe tears coursed down his own cheeks.\n\nBut by the time he had dried his tears and looked round him again, he\nperceived that the army of guests was neither sighing nor crying at his\nmelancholy oration; on the contrary, they were only listening by way of\ndiversion, like triflers listening to a singer of songs.\n\nSo scandalized was he at the sight that he broke off abruptly.\n\nWhat annoyed him most of all were the eyes of the stately Meryza; they\nregarded him so smilingly.\n\nWhen he stopped speaking the stately damsel addressed him--\n\n\"Tell us some more of those pretty tales!\" said she.\n\nBut a whimpering voice beside him--it was the pale Siona's--implored him\nto cease for the love of God, for it made her heart bleed to hear such\nhorrible things.\n\nAnd Sir Simon listened to the words of Siona; he sighed deeply and sat\ndown. He was sorry that he had reproached his host and the army of\nguests with heartlessness; he thought that it was only good manners on\ntheir part, and that he had forgotten himself because he was so tired.\n\nBut now arose Sir Saksin, a gigantic figure of a man, close beside\nSimon, and asked him why he did not drink like the rest of them and why\nhe had left off speaking? Why had he insulted the company by this sudden\nsilence? Let him come out on the green, then, if he would!\n\nSir Simon perceived that this would mean bloodshed, so he shoved away\nhis chair from beneath him and held himself ready for everything. This\nwas no unusual thing in the days when there had been much drinking among\nmany guests and the exhibition of strength was not considered a\ndisgrace, and therefore, before a banquet, all the guests were wont to\nunload themselves of all their cutting and thrusting weapons, lest they\nmight injure one another and be sorry of it when they were sober again.\n\nPerceiving this, Sir Michael would also have leaped from his seat, but\nthe wine he had taken had tied him to it, and besides, those about him\nsaid that in a quarrel between two men, it did not become a third person\nto interfere.\n\nBut Siona whispered to Simon.\n\n\"Beware of letting yourself be hugged, for Saksin has spiked armour\nbeneath his dolman, and if he clip you tight it will mangle you.\"\n\nAnd this secret information was of great use to Simon, for when he was\nwrestling with the big knight in the midst of the room, he never let\nhimself be clipt round the body, but seized him firmly by both arms, and\nafter thus giving his huge body a good shaking, tripped him up and\nflung him to the ground so that his head hit the floor violently.\n\nAt this, Saksin leaped furiously to his feet, and clutching a chair,\nrushed upon Sir Simon; but the latter broke the impact of the chair with\none hand, while with the other he gave Sir Saksin such a buffet that he\nsaw and heard nothing more, for the blood burst suddenly from his nose,\nmouth, and ears. So they carried him off wrapped up in a rug.\n\nAt this the other guests laughed heartily, praised Sir Simon for his\nstrength and skill, and pressed his hand one after another. But he\nnoticed at the same time that they all tried to find out whether they\ncould hurt his hand by pressing it as hard as they could. \"Let them do\nas they like,\" he thought; \"but I wonder what is going to happen next.\"\n\nFinally, the master of the house tapped him on the shoulder. He told him\ntoo that he was a fine fellow for overthrowing so doughty a warrior with\nwhom none hitherto had ventured to cope, and inasmuch as he had resolved\nthat whoever was able to vanquish Sir Saksin was to be allowed to choose\none of his daughters for his consort, let him make his choice\nstraightway.\n\nSir Simon fancied they were making sport with him by promising him such\na reward, which he had done nought to earn. But when he saw them summon\nthe chaplain, he perceived they were in real earnest. And, besides, he\nwas invited once more to make his choice.\n\nBut Sir Michael, his brother, was greatly amazed at all this. He was\nalso grievously annoyed that _he_ had not contended with Saksin, for he\nwas no whit less doughty than his brother Simon. Alas! Simon would of\ncourse choose Meryza, for if he had any eyes at all he could not fail to\nsee at a glance which was the loveliest.\n\nBut Simon turned towards the pale Siona and said it was she who pleased\nhim best.\n\nSir Fulko was greatly surprised. _He_ did not like the choice at all. He\nscratched his head. He bit his lips. But the only objection he could\nmake was that Meryza was the eldest.\n\n\"Well, if you don't want her married later than her younger sister, give\nher to wife to my younger brother. He is just as good a warrior as I am,\nand if he had fought with Saksin he would have flung him to the ground\nnot twice but thrice.\"\n\nMichael himself swore that he would indeed have done all that for\nMeryza, and, if necessary, he would try conclusions with every gentleman\npresent one after the other; whereat they all laughed heartily.\n\nSir Fulko thereupon took him at his word, and said that, as he was so\nenamoured of his daughter, he might take her for his consort by all\nmeans.\n\nSir Michael was beside himself for joy. He could scarce stand upon his\nlegs for joy, and challenged the whole world to wrestle with him.\n\nBut the soul of Sir Simon was steadied and cooled by the reflection: How\nwas it that such a rich lord disposed so readily of his lady-daughters,\nand gave them to wife to the first comers without wooing or sueing?\n\nNevertheless, it was a fact, whether he believed himself to be awake or\nimagined himself to be asleep, it had happened all the same. Sir Fulko\njoined their hands together; Meryza drew from her finger a diamond ring,\nwhich she placed on the finger of Sir Michael; while Siona gave a thin\ncirclet to Sir Simon as a token of their espousals, the knights giving\nthem in exchange from their fingers old ancestral rings of great price;\nwhereupon the whole army of guests, suddenly converted into a bridal\nparty, proceeded forthwith to the castle chapel, where a priestly shape\nunited the two couples in holy matrimony according to the ritual of the\nCatholic Faith, decently and in order to the accompaniment of hymns and\norgan.\n\nSir Michael and the fair Meryza withdrew to their appointed\nbridal-chamber, but Sir Simon said to his bride: \"I will remain here a\nlittle while before the altar to thank God for His wondrous benefits,\ninasmuch as He has delivered me out of jeopardy and guided my footsteps\ninto the path of liberty. It was but yesterday the wolves were lying in\nwait for me, and now to-day I am blessed with a good consort like you.\nGo back to your room, and I will shortly come after you.\"\n\nFor about an hour Sir Simon remained there beside the altar, which was\nembellished with the statues of the Saints; he felt inclined to bless\nthese holy images one after the other, but then he thought that perhaps\nSiona might be growing impatient at his long delay.\n\n\"Forgive me, Siona, for remaining so long in the chapel,\" said he, on\nhis return; \"but I had so many thanks to render to God this day.\"\n\n\"Indeed, you have many reasons to thank God,\" said Siona; \"for\nmarvellously hath He delivered you from death this day. You may thank\nGod that you sat beside me instead of by Meryza, for Saksin would\nassuredly have fastened a quarrel upon you in any case; and had you not\ntaken heed and avoided his grip, you would have been a dead man now. You\nmay also thank God that you drank not out of your own beaker, but out of\nmine, in which there was water; for the rim of your beaker was smeared\nwith stupefying poison, and if your lips had touched it, you would have\nbeen drugged and died before dawn. But you may thank God a hundred times\nover that you did not stretch out your hand after Meryza when they\nallowed you to choose between us, as hundreds have done before you, who\nare all dead; for you most certainly would have followed them.\"\n\n\"But what sort of a house can this be, then?\" inquired the terrified\nSimon.\n\n\"A house of robbers and murderers. Sir Fulko is a bandit-chief; he is\nnot my father, but my step-father, who tormented my mother to death.\nMeryza, on the contrary, _is_ his daughter, of whom they relate horrors.\nThese guests, who walk about in cloth of gold, the companions of Fulko\nand his daughter, are every one of them murderers a hundred times over,\nand accursed. Formerly, until last year, they scoured the counties far\nand wide, in bands, on their predatory adventures. Sometimes Meryza\nherself led them, and she is more merciless even than her father in\nthese nocturnal massacres. Since, however, Heaven in its wrath has\ninflicted this great blow on our country, and let loose the Tatars upon\nit, Fulko's bands have not gone forth plundering. They fear to fall in\nwith stronger robbers than themselves, so they hung large bells in\ntheir towers, and the far-sounding voices of the bells decoy from afar\nthose who are seeking a refuge from the Tartars. When rich nobles or\nchapmen come hither they are hospitably welcomed; their treasures are\ntaken charge of, and they themselves are disposed of the very first\nnight. If there are handsome youths amongst them they are made sport of,\nas you were. Fulko offers them the choice of his daughters. The youth,\nintoxicated by the drugged wine, demand the hand of Meryza, and they\nconduct him to the altar. A robber, clothed in the vestments of some\nmurdered priest, unites them, and he finds himself her husband. When\nMeryza gives the signal they ring the bell outside; an alarm of 'fire'\nis raised; the young husband is aroused from his slumbers, and the\nmoment he rushes from the bedroom all trace of him is lost, and the next\nday there is a fresh comer, another death, another sacrifice.\"\n\n\"Horrible!\" cried Sir Simon. \"And is Michael there at this moment? Where\nis he, I say?\"\n\n\"Speak softly! He is not there now. In the adjoining room gapes an abyss\ntwenty fathoms wide. Every day we walk over it. The floor on which we\nwalk turns downwards on a hinge, which is in the centre of it, and on\nthe withdrawal of a bolt is ready to yawn open from end to end. At this\nmoment the bolt is withdrawn. If any one were to tread upon the floor it\nwould give way beneath him, and precipitate him below into a deep well,\nwhich leads into a long corridor, extending right away to the base of\nthe mountain, and only admitting the light of day through a narrow\nopening. If by some miracle any one falls to the bottom of the dry well\nwithout dashing out his brains, he is torn to pieces in the depths by\ntwo bloodhounds of Fulko, Orcus and Erebus he calls them. On the\nfollowing day, Fulko and his men descend into the cave-like corridor,\nscare away the dogs, and divide among them the gems and ornaments of the\ndead men.\"\n\n\"And my brother? What has happened to my brother?\"\n\nSiona dried the tears from her eyes.\n\n\"Listen, and I'll tell you the designs of your enemies. A hand will\nbegin tapping softly on the window of the bedroom, and then they will\nwhisper that your brother wants a word with you. They are tapping at\nMichael's window now.\"\n\n\"And he?\"\n\n\"Dead, without doubt. It was impossible to save him, for Meryza would\ncome with him to the very door, and kiss him there; and then there would\nbe a shout--and a great silence.\"\n\nWords failed Sir Simon for sheer sorrow of heart.\n\n\"All you can do now is to save yourself. Here is a long rope; tie it\nround your body. Here is a good sword; gird it on to your belt. Take\nthis burning torch in your left hand; don't wait till they call. Step\nout upon the drawbridge. I will let you down softly by this cord, and\nwhen you have got down I'll fling the cord after you. If you meet the\nbloodhounds cry: 'Be off, Orcus and Erebus,' and dash the torch in their\neyes, and they will not hurt you. Kill them not, for then it will be\nknown that you have escaped, and Fulko and his men will go after you and\ncapture you. And now hasten. When you are in a place of safety, I wish\nyou a long life; and perhaps you will sometimes think that the poor\norphan whom you chose for your faithful consort really was faithful to\nyou.\"\n\nSir Simon embraced and kissed Siona with great emotion.\n\n\"I am really your husband, and will not leave you here; come along with\nme!\"\n\n\"That would mean the destruction of us both. They would know in an hour\nthat I had betrayed them, and before dawn we should be again in their\nhands. The whole neighbourhood is in league with them. In three days'\ntime they will not be able to make out which of the bones are yours.\nHasten! Tarry not!\"\n\nSir Simon thereupon vowed to God that if he escaped from thence, and the\nrealm ever righted itself again, he would return thither to release his\nbride and take vengeance on the murderers of his brother. He did\neverything that Siona wished. His sword in one hand, his torch in the\nother, the card of deliverance round his body, he cautiously stepped\nupon the bridge of sighs, and when it gave way beneath him, he softly\ndescended into the terrible abyss, from whose depths a dull howling\ngreeted him.\n\n\"God be with you!\" cried the voice of Siona above his head, when he\nalready stood at the bottom of the well. He lifted the torch and lit up\neverything around him. There lay his brother Michael, his beautiful head\ncrushed to death. The two bloodhounds, which were licking up his blood,\nfell back before the torch into the darkness; their blood-red eyes\nsparkled in the distance.\n\nSir Simon kissed the face of his dead brother, and suffered him not to\nlie there for the wild beasts, but threw him over his shoulder and\ncarried him through the long corridor till he came to the forest. The\ntwo dogs followed him all the way, but dare not attack him because of\nthe torch.\n\nIn the forest beyond he dug a grave for the dead body, piled a great\nheap of stones upon it, cut crosses in the bark of four trees which\ntowered above it so that he might recognize the spot, and earnestly\nprayed God to allow him to rest there in peace.\n\nThe north star now led him onwards towards the Carpathians.\n\nTwo nights he travelled continuously; in the daytime he kept closely\nunder cover. On the third day at dawn he beheld in the distance the\nsimple cross on the hilltop, of which the hermit had told him.\n\nIt was indeed the Stone of Refuge.\n\nThe worthy and valiant Templars, the Red Brothers, as the common folks\ncalled them, had built there a place of refuge for the fugitives of the\nwhole kingdom, and whenever a vagrant Tatar band came after them they\nwere bravely repulsed, and could not take them by force.\n\nAnd in the third year the hand of the Lord swept away from the bereaved\nMagyar land the hordes of Gog and Magog, and every one returned to his\ndevastated fatherland.\n\nThe King came back and re-created a nation and a kingdom, and laid an\niron hand on the traitors and malefactors who had competed with the\nenemy in the devastation of their country.\n\nAmbulatory tribunals were formed which, under the presidency of the\nPalatine, summoned the accused to appear at the bar on the borders of\nevery county. Those charged with such grievous crimes had to submit to\nthe judgments of God by means of the fire or water ordeal, or if they\nwere warriors they had to contend with the royal warriors, whose faces\nwere defended by helmets, and their bodies by coats of mail, while the\naccused had no other weapons than sword and targe.\n\nMany an impious offender was caught in this way, to wit, renegades,\ntraitors, saracens, cannibals, highwaymen, and spies. And at last it\ncame to the turn of Sir Fulko. The royal herald fastened the accusing\niron-glove on his gates also, and so great was the confidence of the\nrobber chief that, though he might have fled, he did not fly, but\nappeared with all his retainers, with his captain Saksin, and his\ndaughter Meryza, before the tribunal, only Siona remained behind in the\nearth.\n\nMeryza put heart into Captain Saksin, who was a frightfully strong man\nand experienced in duelling, and bade him have no fear, but embrace the\nroyal champion firmly, and to that end she had made for him a shirt of\nmail which was a masterpiece of sorcery, for no weapon could pierce it,\nand gave him a sword besides, which could pierce iron as if it were\nvelvet.\n\nThus caparisoned, Sir Saksin planted himself in the lists where the\nroyal champion stood; over against him and in the midst of the lists sat\nthe Palatine beneath a canopy, with the Pristaldus standing below him,\nand the Pristaldus recited from a long list, in a loud voice, the\ncharges brought against the accused, to wit, that they had faithlessly\nmurdered those who had sought refuge with them, and had profaned the\nHoly Sacrament.\n\nThe accused replied that the charges against them were lies, in the\nbelief that those who could testify against them were all dead.\n\n\"I declare the accusation to be pure calumny, and I demand a duel with\nthe royal champion,\" cried Sir Saksin, defiantly.\n\n\"Then recognize whom you fight with,\" said the champion, pulling off his\nbarred helmet; \"I am Simon Koppand, whom Orcus and Erebus did not\ndevour.\"\n\nOn hearing that name and seeing that face, the enchanted sword fell from\nthe hand of the big powerful man; he had no more stomach for fighting.\nHe stretched out his hand for the fetters, and promised to confess\neverything.\n\nSir Fulko, when he heard the names of Orcus and Erebus, swiftly flung\nhimself on his horse and galloped off; they pursued, but could not\novertake him. None to this day knows what became of him.\n\nOnly Meryza remained defiant. When her father fled, and Saksin confessed\neverything, even she denied her crimes, and refused to tell anything.\nThen she was subjected to the water ordeal, and died beneath it.\n\nSaksin they quartered; the other robbers were beheaded.\n\nAfter this the King bestowed upon Simon Koppand the castle of Sir Fulko,\nand Simon Koppand presented the enormous treasure he found there to the\nChurch, to the glory of God.\n\nBut Siona he really took to wife, and was married to her a second time,\ncanonically, and she lived with him long and happily as his faithful\nconsort. And the name of Koppand continued for centuries.\n\nAnd may the Lord God bless the Magyars hereafter as He hath done\nheretofore.\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n_Jarrold and Sons, Ltd., The Empire Press, Norwich._\n\n\n\n\nNEW & FORTHCOMING PUBLICATIONS.\n\nSHORTLY.\n\nTHE BRAIN BOOK AND HOW TO READ IT.\n\nBY H.\u00a0C. DONOVAN.\n\nA POPULAR EXPOSITION OF PHRENOLOGY.\n\n_With over Forty specially prepared Illustrations._\n\n\nGreatly helpful to the Student of Phrenology, and of interest to all\nacquainted with the subject. The author has had the advantage of being\nable to refer to notes of original investigations by his father, the\nlate Dr. Donovan, and the book now published is believed to embody the\nmost reliable and up-to-date teaching on the subject. It deals both with\ntheory and practice. The Illustrations will be valued by all interested\nin the location of the various faculties. A portion of the work is\ndevoted to an account of certain independent investigations, and the\nstriking conclusions the author draws therefrom. 6s. nett.\n\n\n\n\nFOURTH EDITION NOW READY.\n\n=THE KING'S ENGLISH & HOW TO WRITE IT.=\n\nFor the use of Students and others.\n\n\nA comprehensive text-book of Essay Writing, Pr\u00e9cis Writing, and\nParaphrasing, with hints for a practical course of reading. By JOHN\nBYGOTT (Double Medallist and First Prizeman of the Society of Arts--in\nEnglish, 1902, in Pr\u00e9cis Writing, 1903; Master at Pitman's Metropolitan\nSchool, London): and A.\u00a0J. LAWFORD JONES, of H.M. Civil Service (Double\nMedallist and First Prizeman Society of Arts--in Pr\u00e9cis Writing, 1900,\nin English, 1903; Senior Evening Tutor at Skerry's Civil Service and\nUniversity College; Editor of the Student's Column in the _Union\nObserver_; and author of several text-books). The work is based upon the\ncomparative method, encourages the student to undertake a carefully\nselected course in standard literature. Illustrative quotations are\ngiven. The book covers the syllabus of the London Matriculation, the\nSociety of Arts, and the generality of Pupil Teachers', Civil Service,\nand similar Examinations demanding a knowledge of English Composition.\nWarmly commended by leading Educational Authorities. A copy has been\naccepted by King Edward VII. 1s. 6d. nett.\n\n\nJUST PUBLISHED\n\n=THE MANOR HOUSE.=\n\nBy S. ELIZABETH HALL, Author of \"Sybil Fairleigh,\" etc. 3s. 6d.\n\n\"Has the greatest merit a story can have--it can be read aloud in a\nfamily circle.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n\"Has plenty of cleverly managed incidents and sensations.\"--_Newcastle\nChronicle._\n\n\nSHORTLY.\n\n=DOG TAILS FROM CAMBRIDGE.=\n\nBy C. KENT-HARKWAY, Author of \"Celtic Waters,\" etc. With thirty\nillustrations by FANNIE MOODY. 3s. 6d.\n\nA volume describing an undergraduate's life at Cambridge, his\ncompanions, and more particularly his various dogs, with their\nextraordinary characteristics, and the troubles into which his\ndog-keeping tastes brought him in various parts of the country. Some\nhumorous love adventures also figure in the story. A book which will be\nenjoyed by all lovers of fun, whether dog-lovers or not.\n\n\nSHORTLY.\n\n_First Edition Subscribed for in advance of publication._\n\n=A SCOTTISH BLUEBELL.=\n\nBy ETTA BUCHANAN BENNETT. 3s. 6d.\n\nThe heroine, Marjorie Linsday, resides at a little seaside town in\nScotland. She discovers a family secret, and in the end ascertains that\nshe is the heiress of the Earl of Lowrie. The story contains many\nexciting episodes at home and abroad, and has a powerful plot.\n\n\nSHORTLY.\n\n=OUTCASTS FROM CHOICE.=\n\nA Story of Klondyke. By Mr. GUSTIN AISH. 3s. 6d.\n\nThe style is picturesque and vigorous, and describes the adventures and\nlife in a miners' camp of a party on their first visit to Klondyke.\n\n\n\n\n\nNEW SIX SHILLING NOVELS.\n\n\n=THE GOLDEN DWARF.=\n\nBy R. 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CROSBIE. 6s.\n\n\"The story of incident is told in the first person, and well told,\nindividual and national characteristics being consistently\npreserved.\"--_Athen\u00e6um._\n\n\"It bristles with adventure of the most entertaining type. .\u00a0.\u00a0. The\nattention is enchained as the writer unfolds his plot, which winds\nitself like a charm around the reader's imagination. It is, furthermore,\na clever character sketch.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n\n=LIEGE LADY.= By LILIAN S. ARNOLD. 6s.\n\n\"Both plot and characters are well conceived.\"--_The Times._\n\n\"A most enjoyable book. The characters are most deftly sketched, and the\ninterest in the story is well sustained from the first page to the\nlast.\"--_Pall Mall Gazette._\n\n\"The descriptions of the German peasants and their surroundings are very\nwell done .\u00a0.\u00a0. it is well worth reading.\"--_Review of Reviews._\n\n\n=DISTANT LAMPS.= By JESSIE REUSS. 6s.\n\n\"A clever, thoughtful, and well-written tale.\"--_Aberdeen Free Press._\n\n\"An interesting and promising novel.\"--_Pall Mall Gazette._\n\n\"Is marked by ingenuity and cleverness in literary detail.\"--_Sheffield\nIndependent._\n\n\n\n\n\nNEW HUMOROUS NOVELS BY POPULAR AUTHORS.\n\n\n_Crown 8vo, Cloth Elegant, Profusely Illustrated._\n\n=3s. 6d. EACH.=\n\n\n_By the Author of \"We Three and Troddles.\"_ JUST PUBLISHED.\n\n=THE CRUISE OF THE MOCK TURTLE.= By R. ANDOM, Author of \"Troddles and Us\nand Others,\" \"Martha and I,\" etc. Humorously Illustrated by C. HARRISON.\n\n\"A book of frank, boisterous humour, describing the sorrows of four men\nwho took a short holiday in a sailing boat. .\u00a0.\u00a0. Is quite as good as\nthe author's previous works.\"--_Morning Leader._\n\n\"It is positively refreshing to peruse so genuinely comic a book. The\nfour friends are full of life and fun, and their entertaining adventures\nare sure to occasion merriment.\"--_Glasgow Herald._\n\n\n_By the Author of \"Angling Done Here,\" etc._\n\n=THE CRICKLETON CHRONICLES; or, That Cowboy's Courtship.= By W. CARTER\nPLATTS. Illustrated. Relating the original methods adopted by a Colorado\nranchman, of wooing a Yorkshire squire's daughter. Fully Illustrated.\n\n\"Not a page without a laugh. .\u00a0.\u00a0. The beat humorous book that Carter\nPlatts has written.\"--_Leeds Mercury._\n\n\n=MY FRIEND BILHOOLEY; or, A Moorish Nightmare.= By HENRY FIELD and BLARNEY\nSTONE. Humorously Illustrated. A humorous Story, more on the lines of\n\"Three Men in a Boat,\" with the same amount of fun, and will afford the\nreader many a hearty laugh.\n\n\"Abounds with humorous incidents. The archaic habits of the country are\ncaricatured with considerable cleverness.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n\n=NEW 3S. 6D. NOVELS.=\n\n=THE ROMANCE OF POISONS.= Being Weird Episodes from Life. By ROBERT\nCROMIE, Author of \"The Crack of Doom,\" etc. In collaboration with T.\u00a0S.\nWILSON.\n\n\"Told with ingenuity and the resource of a practical pen. They are\nindeed thoroughly well written.\"--_The Irish Times._\n\n\"A medical Sherlock Holmes. Those who like detective stories of the\nSherlock Holmes school, will find good measure in 'The Romance of\nPoisons.'\"--_Morning Post._\n\n\"The stories are weird in the extreme, but will be appreciated by those\nwho like literature of the 'creepy' sort.\"--_Daily Telegraph._\n\n\n\n\nJARROLD & SONS'\nNEW AND FORTHCOMING BOOKS.\n\n\n=For Love and Ransom.=\n\nBy ESME STUART, Author of \"Harum Scarum,\" &c. Illustrated by HAROLD\nPIFFARD. 6_s._\n\n\n_A ROMANCE OF TENNYSON-LAND._\n\n=Over Stony Ways.= (Just Published.)\n\nBy EMILY M. BRYANT, Author of \"Kitty Lonsdale and some Romsley Folk,\"\n&c. 6s. With notes by T.\u00a0F. LOCKYER, B.A. Also Six Full-page\nIllustrations from Photographs of Somersby and other Bits of\nTennyson-Land.\n\n\"Miss Bryant knows the country she describes, and the charm and\nsuggestion of it will linger long after the artificial incidents of the\nstory have faded from the recollection.\"--_Daily Chronicle._\n\n\"Has plenty of merit. .\u00a0.\u00a0. The situations are well framed.\"--_Pall Mall\nGazette._\n\n\n_A STORY OF ADVENTURE AND SMUGGLING._\n\n=Gorry, Son of Orry, King of the Isle of Man.=\n\nBy W. CLUCAS JOUGHIN. With Seven Illustrations by J.\u00a0B. GREENE. 6_s._\n\n\"A stirring story of adventure .\u00a0.\u00a0. a book boys will read with\navidity.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n\"A striking story of adventure in the Isle of Man.\"--_World._\n\n\n='Neath the Hoof of the Tartar; or, The Scourge of God.=\n\nBy BARON NICOLAS JOSIKA--the Sir Walter Scott of Hungary. Translated by\nSELINA GAYE. With Photogravure Portrait of Author, and Preface by R.\nNISBET BAIN. 6_s._\n\n\n=Tales from J\u00f3kai.=\n\nTranslated from the Hungarian by R. NISBET BAIN. With Biography of DR.\nMAURUS JOKAI, also Photogravure Portrait. 6_s._\n\nBesides his romances, Jokai has written a score or so of volumes of\nshort stories, which, in the opinion of many good Magyar critics,\ncontain some of his most notable work. The present selection claims to\nbe fully representative, and to give a taste of the many widely\ndiffering qualities of the great romancer.\n\n\n=The Slaves of the Padishah; or, The Turks in Hungary.= (Fourth Edition.)\n\nBy MAURUS JOKAI. Translated by R. NISBET BAIN. With Biography of DR.\nMAURUS JOKAI, also Photogravure Portrait. 6_s._\n\n\"One of the great books of the brilliant Hungarian novelist. His plot is\nfull of episodes, each of which would form a complete picture in\nitself.\"--_Daily News._\n\n\"Holds his readers spellbound.\"--_Daily Telegraph._\n\n\n_A STORY OF MAORI MAGIC AND SUPERSTITION._\n\n=The Daughter of the Dawn.=\n(Third Edition.)\n\nBy REGINALD HODDER. With Illustrations by HAROLD PIFFARD. 6_s._\n\n\"A tale of Maori land, palpitating with excitement.\"--_Bookman._\n\n\"Full of a weird mystery and an atmosphere of enchantment which should\ngive it a definite and foremost place among the romances of the day\n.\u00a0.\u00a0. a fascinating volume.\"--_Daily Graphic._\n\n\n=Among the Cranks.=\n\nBy JAMES GREENWOOD (The Amateur Casual), Author of \"Kerrison's Crime,\"\n&c. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\nIn this humorous work the author introduces some unusual characters, and\ntells of the extraordinary ideas with which they are possessed.\n\n\n\n\nBOOKS FOR BOOK LOVERS.\n\n\n=OLD DAYS IN DIPLOMACY.= By the Eldest Daughter of Sir Edward Cromwell\nDisbrowe, G.C.G., En. Min. Plen. With Preface by M. Montgomery-Campbell;\nseveral photogravure Portraits, and autograph letter from Queen\nCharlotte. First Edition subscribed in advance of publication. 10/6\nnett.\n\n\n=LONDON OF TO-DAY.= By Charles Eyre Pascoe. The first volume of a new\nSeries. The most complete, useful, and up-to-date guide published.\nShould be in every Library. 534 pages. Copiously illustrated. Richly\ngilt. Price 6/-.\n\n\n=HISTORY OF THE 4th BATTALION NORFOLK REGIMENT.= By Col. Sir Charles\nHarvey, Bart. Many illustrations. The Edition is limited to 250 copies.\nPrice 25/- nett.\n\n\n=CHRONICLES OF THE GARNIERS OF HAMPSHIRE, 1530 to 1900.= With 25 portraits\nand 5 other illustrations. 31/6.\n\n\n=CHURCH BELLS OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE.= By Alfred Heneage Cocks, M.A., F.Z.S.,\nF.R.G.S. With many illustrations. 21/- and 42/- nett.\n\n\n=CHURCH BELLS OF HUNTINGDONSHIRE.= By Rev. T.\u00a0M.\u00a0N. Owen, M.A. 15/6 and\n42/-.\n\n\"A book of engrossing interest.\"--_Hunts County News._\n\n\n=CHURCH BELLS OF SUFFOLK.= By Rev. John James Raven, D.D., F.S.A., Hon.\nCanon Norwich Cathedral. About 90 illustrations. 27/6 and 20/- nett.\n\n\n=THE INDISPENSABLE REFERENCE GUIDE AND GAZETTEER.= By A.\u00a0F. Harrod. Gives\nparticulars of 18,000 places, with nearest railway stations, crane\npower, etc. Of great use to traders and travellers. 21/-.\n\n\n=FRIESLAND MERES.= By H.\u00a0M. Doughty, Author of \"Our Wherry in Wendish\nLands.\" Fourth Edition. 7/6.\n\n\"A most welcome and original volume.\"\n\n\n=THE ROYAL PASTIME OF COCK FIGHTING.= By \"R.\u00a0H.\" Facsimile of the original\nEdition of 1709. One hundred numbered copies. 10/6 nett.\n\n\n=BOWLS, BOWLING GREENS, AND BOWL PLAYING.= By E.\u00a0T. Ayres. Illustrated.\nMost comprehensive. Second Edition. 2/6.\n\n\n=LETTERS OF LADY HESKETH TO THE REV. JOHN JOHNSON, LL.D.=, concerning\ntheir kinsman, William Cowper, the Poet (1790-1806). Illustrated. 5/-\nand 6/6 nett.\n\n\n=WAGNER, BAYREUTH AND THE FESTIVAL PLAYS.= By Frances Gerard. With\nIllustrations and Portrait of Wagner. Third Edition. 3/6.\n\n\n=THE ROMANCE OF KING LUDWIG THE SECOND OF BAVARIA AND HIS FAIRY PALACES.=\nBy Frances Gerard. Fourth Edition. Profusely illustrated. 6/-.\n\n\n=THOMAS MOORE ANECDOTES AND EPIGRAMS.= With Notes by Wilmot Harrison, and\nspecial Introduction by Richard Garnett, LL.D., with frontispiece\nPortrait of Thomas Moore. 3/6.\n\n\n=HUNGARIAN LITERATURE.= By Dr. Emil Reich, Author of \"History of\nCivilisation.\" With Map of Hungary. 6/-.\n\n\n=CHRIST IN SACRED ART.= By Joseph Lewis French. With 33 full-page\nreproductions from Painting by the Great Masters. 6/-.\n\n\n=THREE CHILDREN OF GALILEE.= A Life of Christ. By John Gordon. With 100\nillustrations of Holy Land Scenery. Third Edition. 3/6 and 5/-.\n\n\n=BY THE DEEP SEA.= By E. Step. With 113 illustrations. 5/-. Third Edition.\n\n\n=EVERY-DAY BOOK OF NATURAL HISTORY.= By J.\u00a0C. Cundall. With 64\nillustrations. 3/6. Fourth Edition.\n\n\n=AGRICULTURAL REVIVAL AND THE RURAL EXODUS.= By P. Anderson Graham,\nSpecial Commissioner on Agriculture for the _Morning Post_. Third\nEdition. 3/6.\n\n\n=SOME REMINISCENCES OF A LECTURER.= By Dr. Andrew Wilson. With finely\nengraved portrait of Author. 2/6.\n\n\n=FIVE WORKS=, by Dr. Gordon Stables--(1) Sickness or Health, a book about\ntrifling ailments; (2) The Boys' Book of Health and Strength; (3) The\nGirl's Own Book of Health and Beauty; (4) The Wife's Guide to Health and\nHappiness; (5) The Mother's Book of Health and Family Adviser. 2/6 each;\nor set of five complete in special case, 12/6 nett. Useful and\npractical.\n\n\"Such a book by Gordon Stables is more interesting than a novel.\"--_Vide\nPress._\n\n\n=THE ROMANCE OF POISONS.= A novel of sensations. By Robert Cromie, Author\nof \"A Plunge into Space,\" etc. 3/6.\n\n\n=THE POETS LAUREATE.= From the earliest times. By J.\u00a0C. Wright, Author of\n\"Outline of English Literature.\" 2/6.\n\n\n=THE DAUGHTER OF THE DAWN.= Second Edition. A remarkable work of Maori\nLife and Legend. By Reginald Hodder. With twelve illustrations by Harold\nPiffard. 6/-.\n\n\"A tale of Maori Land, palpitating with excitement.\"--_Bookman._\n\n\"Full of an atmosphere of enchantment, which should give it a definite\nand foremost place among the romances of the day.\"--_Daily Graphic_\n\n\n=THE TONE KING.= Second Edition. A Romance of the Life of Mozart. By\nHeribert Rau. Translated by I.\u00a0E. St. Quintin Rae. With a specially\nengraved Portrait of Mozart. 6/-.\n\n\"A lively story. Mozart was the wonder of the world, and the narrative\nof his achievements, as boy and man, deftly built up to completeness by\nMr. Rau, is delightful reading throughout.\"--_Daily Telegraph._\n\n\n=TALES FROM TOLSTOI.= Fourth Edition. Translated from the Russian by R.\nNisbet Bain. With Biography and specially engraved Portrait of Count\nTolstoi. 6/-.\n\n\"The stories are excellently well selected and show Tolstoi's wonderful\npower of treating an astonishing variety of subjects with equal ease and\nsuccess.\"--_Westminster Gazette._\n\n\"The book is well worth reading, it is absorbing.\"--_Daily Express._\n\n\n=MORE TALES FROM TOLSTOI.= Translated from the Russian by R. Nisbet Bain.\nWith the latest photogravure Portrait of Count Leo Tolstoi, and\nBiography brought up to date. 6/-.\n\n\"No admirer of Tolstoi is likely to miss reading this book, and it would\nform a good introduction to his works.\"--_Daily Mail._\n\n\n=TALES FROM GORKY.= Translated from the Russian by R. Nisbet Bain. With\nphotogravure Portrait and Biography of Maxim Gorky. 6/-.\n\n\"The man has all the notes of genuine and unmistakable literary genius.\nHe has vision; he has the mastery of the phrase; half-a-dozen deft\ntouches and there is your picture; in a paragraph he has infected you\nwith the emotion he himself experienced at the moment he\npresents.\"--_Daily Chronicle._\n\n\n\n\nMAURUS JOKAI'S FAMOUS NOVELS.\n\nAUTHORISED EDITIONS.\n\n_Crown 8vo Art Linen, with Photogravure Portrait of DR. J\u00d3KAI. 6s.\neach._\n\n\n=THE GREEN BOOK; or, Freedom under the Snow.= Eighth Edition.\n\nMr. Courtney, in the _Daily Telegraph_, says:--\"It is truly an\nastounding book. In force, fire, and prodigal variety he reminds one of\nthe elder Dumas.\"\n\n\n=THE DAY OF WRATH.= Fourth Edition.\n\n\"There is no novel in which J\u00f3kai's all-round forcefulness and daring\nwealth of colour are more terrific.\"--_Pall Mall Gazette._\n\n\n=BLACK DIAMONDS.= Fifth Edition.\n\n\"Few living novelists rival J\u00f3kai in popularity. 'Black Diamonds' is one\nof J\u00f3kai's most popular romances.\"--_Athen\u00e6um._\n\n\n=EYES LIKE THE SEA.= Fourth Edition.\n\n\"A brilliant story. .\u00a0.\u00a0. The wealth of incident and quaint situations\ndisplay the surprising fancy of the author.\"--_Pilot._\n\n\n\n=THE LION OF JANINA.= Fifth Edition.\n\n\"It is a fascinating story.\"--_Daily Chronicle._\n\n\n=DR. DUMANY'S WIFE.= Fourth Edition.\n\n\"A good interesting novel. The characters live and move all through the\nbook.\"--_St. James' Gazette._\n\n\n=PRETTY MICHAL.= Fifth Edition.\n\n\"We admire the work of Maurus J\u00f3kai. It is vivid and there is a\nsuperabundance of incident.\"--_Times._\n\n\n='MIDST THE WILD CARPATHIANS.= Fourth Edition.\n\n\"A succession of gorgeous tableaux. His canvas is crowded with striking\nfigures of irresistible charm.\"--_Spectator._\n\n\n=THE SLAVES OF THE PADISHAH; or, The Turks in Hungary.= Sequel to \"'Midst\nthe Wild Carpathians.\"\n\n\"One of the great books of the brilliant Hungarian Novelist.\"--_Daily\nNews._\n\n\n=A HUNGARIAN NABOB.= Fifth Edition.\n\n\"A series of strong, vivid pictures of Hungarian life, executed by the\nhand of a great master.\"--_Daily Chronicle._\n\n\n=THE NAMELESS CASTLE.= Fifth Edition.\n\n\"An enthralling romance of adventure and intrigue.\"--_The Bookman._\n\n\n=THE POOR PLUTOCRATS.= Fifth Edition.\n\n\"Full of exciting incidents and masterly studies of character.\"--_Court\nCircular._\n\n\n=HALIL THE PEDLAR (The White Rose).=\n\n\"The book is a brilliant picture of an almost increditable world.\"--_St.\nJames' Gazette._\n\n\n=DEBTS OF HONOR.= Fourth Edition.\n\n\"A series of pictures, stirring, sorrowful, and gay, but always\nbeautiful.\"--_St. James' Gazette._\n\n\n\n\n\nJARROLD & SONS, 10 & 11, WARWICK LANE, LONDON, E.C.\n\n_And of all Booksellers._\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the\noriginal text have been corrected. Please note that the original text\nwas inconsistent in the spelling and hyphenation of many words, in\nparticular, in the use of accents. Except as noted below, these\nvariations have been retained.\n\nThe title page was moved to the front of the book, ahead of the\nadvertising material which preceded it in the original edition.\n\nIn the Biography of J\u00f3kai, \"J\u00e1nos Kov\u00e1es\" was changed to \"J\u00e1nos Kov\u00e1cs\",\n\"A debreceni Sunatikus\" was changed to \"A debreceni lunatikus\", and\n\"D\u00e9ak's original programme\" was changed to \"De\u00e1k's original programme\".\n\nIn The Justice of Soliman, \"who had stolen the body of Eminah\" was\nchanged to \"who had stolen the body of Eminha\".\n\nIn Love and the Little Dog, \"without the break on\" was changed to\n\"without the brake on\".\n\nIn The Red Starosta, \"the descendant of Jitschak Ben Menachim\" was\nchanged to \"the descendant of Jitzchak Ben Menachim\".\n\nIn The City of the Beast, \"stones and other missles\" was changed to\n\"stones and other missiles\", \"mirky, dark-green tinge\" was changed to\n\"murky, dark-green tinge\", and \"wot not off\" was changed to \"wot not\nof\".\n\nIn The Hostile Skulls, \"if had anything on his mind\" was changed to \"if\nhe had anything on his mind\", and \"a similiar contrivance\" was changed\nto \"a similar contrivance\".\n\nIn The Bad Old Times, a quotation mark was added after \"you shall rise\nup and watch over me.\", and \"in which dwell a gipsy\" was changed to \"in\nwhich dwelt a gipsy\".\n\nIn the advertisement for New and Forthcoming Books, \"Tales from J\u00f2kai\"\nwas changed to \"Tales from J\u00f3kai\", \"cleft touches\" was changed to \"deft\ntouches\", a quotation mark was added after \"masterly studies of\ncharacter.\", and one page of books was moved from after the list of\n\"Maurus Jokai's Famous Novels\" to before.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Tales From J\u00f3kai","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":87652}